Abandonment: The hidden story behind her harrowing ordeal
by Sayuri-2012
Summary: "Liv," he whispered, on the verge of speaking the words that had been burning at the back of his mind for years now, but ultimately he decided to refrain. It seemed unnecessary. His feelings were on his face, in his touch, manifested in the way he had remained almost constantly by her bedside since the moment she had been brought here..."
1. Chapter 1

**Abandonment: The hidden story behind her harrowing ordeal**

_The Ledger: Evening addition._

_The true horror of a top NYPD detective's horrific ordeal four months ago has been slowly coming to light since she was tragically found unconscious and unresponsive after overdosing in her apartment two nights ago. With her condition still described as critical, a witness has stepped forward and claimed a massive NYPD cover-up of events surrounding the senior detective's four-day abduction and captivity by William Lewis, one of the most deranged and heinous serial murder-rapists the city has ever seen. In a press-conference held immediately after Olivia Benson, 46, was found, the chief of police, Robert Humphrey, explained that the detective had been taken in some kind of a revenge attack on the Manhattan sex crimes unit. Benson, who was physically and psychologically tortured during the days that she was held by Lewis, was, among other things, forced to watch two murders and the violent rape of another woman during her prolonged captivity. According to Humphrey, on the fourth day, she managed to outwit and escape her captor just as he had been about to seriously sexually assault her, an end point towards which he had apparently been eagerly building and something he had coldly assured her she would not survive. The NYPD has been widely praised since, for not only its superb training of professional and capable officers, level-headed even in face of such inconceivable atrocity, but also for its speedy action in tracking down the suspect and rescuing one of their own from a sadistic predator. _

_ Last night, however, a very different story emerged, as a young woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, contacted us to reveal that in fact the NYPD have, in an attempt to cover up an array of bumbling errors resulting not least in the death of her mother, missed out some key events. The young woman, who admitted not without some bitterness that her father used to work for the NYPD until he was effectively driven out of the job despite years of dedicated service, told us how Lewis had forced himself into her parents' home with Detective Benson in tow and wreaked havoc there, smashing up furniture, threatening the lives of both herself and her father and forcing them to watch as he carried out a frenzied sexual attack on the detective right in front of them. Disturbed when her mother arrived home from work, Lewis finally halted his assault and headed downstairs to, she assumed, restrain her mother. Terrified for her own and her family's safety, she struggled desperately and somehow managed to free herself from her restraints. Knowing she had very little time and at the insistent urge of her father, she escaped out of the window with intending to find and bringing back help. Miraculously she happened to run into a pair of beat officers just a few hundred meters from her family home, but to her disbelief, the two officers astonishingly refused to believe her admittedly somewhat incredible-sounding story. As she desperately pleaded with the officers to at least check in on her family home, they became concerned by the smell of the alcohol on her breath, which she claims she had been forced by Lewis to drink during her hours-long ordeal. Breaking down into tears, she heart-brokenly admits she became agitated then and lashed out. It's clear from her dejected tone and expression that it's not something she will ever be able to easily come to terms with, as she explains that instead of attaining the help she had assumed had been mere minutes away when she had first run into the officers, she found herself being cuffed and dragged down to the nearest precinct for questioning. _

_ Once there, she was finally able to convince the police to check out her story, but it was already too late, for when the NYPD finally visited her home, they discovered her parents in critical condition, both with a single gunshot wound to the chest. Her mother was tragically pronounced dead at the scene, whereas her father it seemed had been 'luckier', for he was still alive – barely. The bullet was later discovered to have lodged in a rib, effectively saving his life, although he had lost a significant amount of blood in the time he had laid waiting for help to arrive, helpless to do anything to save his wife. Lewis was long gone and Detective Benson was also nowhere to be seen. _

_ With tears streaming down her face, our witness explains how the medical examiner had concluded that her mother had in fact died forty minutes after she had initially been shot, meaning that had the NYPD arrived sooner, her mother could likely have been saved. Lewis went on to murder at least two other people and rape another before he was finally apprehended three days later. _

Queens

Elliot stared at the newspaper article. He couldn't help re-reading it, over and over again. It was surreal seeing the words in black and white; a cold account of events so horrifying that it felt like his gut was literally being ripped to shreds every single time he thought of them. His life was in pieces. His wife was gone, his daughter traumatized, his home violated and now his ex-partner, a woman his relationship with whom he couldn't even put into words, certainly not now after everything that had happened, had finally succumbed to a lifetime of pain, the culmination of which still gave him nightmares. He hated that whoever had written this article had done so with the reader in mind, deliberately picking words and phrases and details that would intentionally cause ultimate shock and horror. As if events weren't bad enough. He coughed, wincing as he felt the now familiar pain in his rib. It had saved his life, but he was left with the constant reminder. It was nothing compared to the pain inside his heart though.

He remembered returning to her apartment. The feeling had nagged at him, telling him there was something terribly wrong. He wasn't sure how, but he had somehow sensed it. Then, when there had been no response to his knocks and calls, he had forced the door, rushing inside, searching for her; soon finding her laying there on her bed, her eyes closed. The expression on her face was so peaceful, that it would have looked as though she were sleeping, were it not for the trickle of drool spilling over the side of her mouth. He rushed over and immediately reached for her, startled at how she could still be so warm. It seemed so contradictory to the conventional notion of death. He knew better though. He'd only been gone around forty-five minutes. Whatever she had taken, it had worked quickly.

His knees almost gave out then as he took in the reality of what she had done and he sank down to the floor, landing hard, but barely feeling it. He reached into his pocket, withdrew his phone, pressing it so hard against his ear that his mind fixated more on that uncomfortable sensation, rather than the devastation at the scene before him and the fact that his ex-partner could possibly be gone; like this. He was overwhelmed by the conviction that this was partly if not wholly his fault. As the moisture began to accumulate in his eyes, he dialed numbly, dazedly requesting a bus, as he reached for the empty bottle of pills he had suddenly noticed beside her. It was then he saw the note. He took it, hardly daring to breathe as he forced his eyes to focus on the scrawled handwriting, evidence perhaps that it was a last-minute thought. It was short and simple with just three words. "I'm sorry." There was no explanation, no rationalization. She had simply just suffered too much. She was one of the bravest, most passionate kindhearted people he knew, but life had just thrown too much misery her way.

Dropping his phone to the ground once he had finished the call, he reached for her, slipping his arms under her still form and bringing her upwards towards him, holding her in a tight embrace.

"Why?" he whispered desperately not even attempting to fight the tears which were now coursing down his cheeks relentlessly. "Why did you do this you stupid woman? Why?" As he spoke his tone rose and he began to shake her, frustrated, desperate, devastated… "How could you do this? Don't you dare die on me, Olivia! Do you hear me? I can't… you can't do this. Don't…don't you know….?" His voice trailed off as he buried his face in her chest, leaving his sentence unfinished. What good would it do to tell her now? Gently, he eased her body down so that she was once more lying flat against the bed. Following her down and clinging desperately to her, his head buried in her chest, his tears quickly soaked through her thin nightdress.

He remained there until the attending medics gently eased him off.

Four months earlier.

She paused. It sounded like there was movement in the back room. Yet Brian hadn't been due to come over. Could he have let himself in to surprise her? He had a key now after all. She remembered the night she had given it to him a couple of weeks back. A few too many margaritas, a particularly passionate encounter followed by an intimate heart to heart and when he had brought it up, she had thought, what the hell? The following morning the doubts had inevitably hit, but what was done was done. She could hardly ask for it back now, could she? Besides it was more symbolic than anything else. He hadn't yet used it and she suspected he wouldn't unless invited anyway. He knew her well enough to know that she highly valued her independence.

Perhaps he had decided to surprise her though? Feeling slightly silly, she called out. It was an instinctive reaction. She was half-expecting Brian to appear, half-expecting the noise to have been a figment of her imagination. She saw the gun before she saw him. The sight of it mesmerized her and she found herself frozen, her mind not quite believing the reality of the situation she was in. As he rushed towards her and she felt the gun against her skin, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest but barely anything else. He was pushing her, forcing her around the kitchen counter. She complied. What choice did she have? This man was a vicious sociopath. He had killed before and she had no doubt that he wouldn't have any qualms about ending her life right now. There was a strange glint in his eye and she thought his pupils might be slightly dilated. If he was on something, then he could be capable of anything. The fear was paralyzing. Her knees literally felt weak and she found herself almost staggering as he pushed her towards a chair and instructed her firmly to sit.

Grateful she no longer had to support her own weight, she complied and sank down. He immediately yanked her hands behind her back and she cried out at the pain in her shoulders as he pulled hard, getting them into place as he reached for her own handcuffs. She struggled, but the pain in her shoulder as he pulled her elbows even closer together behind her back startled her and she cried out once again. She heard the click and felt the metal rubbing against her wrists.

"Too tight," she muttered and was rewarded with a blow to the face.

"You don't get a say in this," he warned her with a snarl.

The fear took firm hold in the pit of her stomach. She watched him as he stepped back and stood before her, staring at her leeringly, her lower position in the chair making him seem even larger, even more menacing. His gaze lowered to her chest and panic overwhelmed her.

"Help!" she screamed, desperately hoping that her voice would carry through to the neighboring apartments and that someone would have the presence of mind to raise the alarm. Something told her it was her only chance. She had witnessed the aftermath first hand after Lewis had finished with his last victim and was terrified that the same fate surely awaited her, if not worse. She couldn't help but wonder if he would let her live afterwards. He would know that she wouldn't stop until she brought him to justice once the whole thing was over.

The second blow took her breath away. She could feel the blood, sense it trickling down from the cut. The pain brought tears to her eyes. She closed them, briefly wondering if perhaps in doing so it might make the whole nightmare go away. She was jolted back to reality when she heard him pulling out a stretch of thick tape. She watched nervously as he cut it carefully.

"I'm sorry, I won't shout out again," she begged. The thought of being gagged thoroughly horrified her. She was petrified of not being able to breathe. He ignored her pleas and roughly slapped the tape over her mouth. She struggled as she desperately tried to force enough air through her nose. She wasn't getting enough. Her breaths were coming faster and faster. She felt like she was suffocating. She began to struggle even harder.

"You need to relax," he said, grinning chillingly. "Getting yourself into a state is just going to make things harder on you. Take long deep breaths. Stop fighting the inevitable. You're mine to do what I want with now. Accept it."

She closed her eyes. He was right in that she needed to control her growing panic and slow her breathing down. At this rate she would pass out. She couldn't help but question if that would really be such a bad thing. She couldn't give up though. She had to fight him. She told herself firmly that at some point an opportunity would present itself. She had to believe that. It was the only way to get through this. She concentrated hard on taking long, regular deep breaths and to her relief, she found herself adjusting to the reduced airflow and her panic began to abate.

She was startled by the sound of a can cracking. She opened her eyes and searched for him. He had moved over to the sofa and had sprawled out, a can in his hand, his feet up on her table, staring straight at her, an expression on his face that let her know just how smug and confident he was feeling. A sudden surge of anger coursed through her at the sight of him sprawled out like that on _her_ sofa, not a care in the world, either oblivious to or just completely detached from her fear. She wanted to throw herself at him, beat him to within an inch of his life, wipe that smug smile off his face and show him that she was no victim, that she was infinitely better than him and that he was the one who should be afraid of her.

Then she watched as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes, removed one and started fingering it slowly, watching her carefully for a reaction. Her heart sank as she realized what he was planning. This couldn't really be happening. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as images of his previous victim's injuries bombarded her mind. Once again she found herself fighting to control her breathing rate. She could hear the sound as he switched on his lighter. Then she could smell the first waft of tobacco as the newly lit cigarette began to burn. It was as though all her senses were heightened. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. She was convinced that seeing it would somehow just make it so much more real. She could hear the creak of her sofa as he got to his feet and she could hear him crossing the room with slow, deliberate, torturous steps towards her.

She could hear him right in front of her as he sucked in an exaggerated deep breath and then she felt the air hit her face as he blew the offending carcinogenic fumes directly at her face. She tried to hold her breath, but she was already close to panicking and was unable to hold out for more than a few seconds. She gagged at the smell as the smoke forced its way into her lungs.

"Open your eyes," he instructed her coldly. She dug her finger nails hard into her palms. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

His hands were on her neck. She flinched as he ran his fingers over her skin and then began to descend, lowering her top and exposing the sensitive skin of her upper chest.

"No," she begged, but all that came out was a strange groaning sound.

Then she felt the heat as he pushed the lit end hard down on her skin.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was toe-curling. Her eyes now wide open; she thrashed and kicked with her unbound legs seeking to make contact with her torturer, her efforts fruitless as he was easily able to avoid getting kicked.

"This is going to be so much fun," he said gleefully, letting her know without a doubt just how much he was enjoying himself.

The tear began to roll its way down her cheek and she didn't even bother to try to hide it.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Queens

The forty-eight hour vigil at her bedside had taken its toll. He was utterly exhausted. Despite being reluctant to leave her side, he'd had no choice but to return home though. Kathy's mother had called and informed him that Eli had been asking to speak to him on Skype and so he had promised he would go home so that he could call him from his home computer. Olivia's condition remained the same; she was still unconscious and besides, she would be the first person insisting that he go and speak to his son, so he had left the hospital with firm instructions to the staff for them to ring him immediately if there was any change, however small. Then he had wearily headed home, with the intention of showering and changing into fresh clothes, speaking to his youngest son and then swinging by her apartment to pick up a few things he thought she might like when she woke up. And he believed she would. He refused to consider that losing her too was even a possibility.

The newspaper had been left poking half way out of his letter box and picking it up he had immediately noticed the article. It was hard to miss with her photo splashed across the front page. He was still staring at it now as he sat at his dining room table, trying to pull himself together a little before he switched on his computer. It was an official departmental one from a few years back. He remembered the day they had taken it. At the instruction of his captain, he had followed his grumbling colleagues upstairs, and one by one they had succumbed to the compulsory photo session. Munch had mentioned something about wishing he had remembered to put his teeth in, which had drawn a chuckle from them all, as they remembered how they had gone out on Halloween night for a few drinks a couple of weeks ago and how thoroughly startled Olivia had been when he had suddenly grimaced without warning, showing off a surprisingly realistic-looking set of sharp vampire canines.

In the job, moments like these were a welcome distraction. Joking around went someway towards countering the constant misery and deprivation they encountered on a daily basis. Even so, it was relatively rare to hear her chuckle out loud like that and he liked it. When she smiled and her features softened, she seemed even younger-looking, even more radiant. It wasn't without some element of guilt that he acknowledged his partner's attractiveness, but it wasn't something he could ignore. She was undeniably beautiful and he had always thought so. He was aware that his wife had felt threatened by his partner, but she had been badly mistaken if she had ever thought she seriously had anything to worry about. Neither woman deserved that. He had too much respect for both of them. Sure, he found his partner intriguing, but he cherished his marriage. He also respected Olivia way too much to even consider acting on his feelings, assuming Olivia would have even let him and he knew without a doubt she had way too much integrity for that.

He fingered the printed photo wistfully, vaguely aware that the ink was darkening his fingers, but not caring. He had so many regrets. He knew he had badly hurt her by leaving the way he had. When he had glanced through the spy hole on his front door and seen her standing there that night four months ago, he had been in a state of utter shock. For a long while after he had left the special victims unit, he had half-expected, even hoped in a way, that it would be her every time the doorbell rang. However, weeks had turned into months and then eventually years and he had long stopped anticipating her appearance at his door. It was dark, but to be honest it had been difficult to recognize anything much beyond the fact that it was actually her. He hadn't observed the bruises, noticed her disheveled appearance or perceived her crestfallen pose. He had opened the door unquestioningly. It was only after the armed man pushed past, forcing his way inside his home, dragging her inside with him that he realized with horror exactly what state she was in.

His thoughts returned to how she had continued to call him for several weeks after he had left, but for some reason he had been unable to answer. He had listened to every single one of her messages several times, hating himself for what he was doing to her. But what could he say? How could he face her after everything that had happened? Besides the more time that passed, the harder it was to justify what he had done. She deserved better than that. He truly believed that she would ultimate be better off without him in her life. Then suddenly her calls had ceased. She had given up and even though he knew it was highly unfair, that he was being a dick for even thinking this way, he couldn't help but feel bitter that she had apparently moved on. It was too late to change things now though. That was when he sent her the medallion: a final goodbye.

The problem was that when that girl had stood, waving the gun around, shooting blindly, he had never been more terrified in his life. Not for him, but for her. The extent of his feelings shocked him. They had been in life and death situations before, but this was different somehow. She could have been hit so easily. Sister Peg had been standing right beside her. The thought of losing her overwhelmed him and he had fired. He'd had no choice. He couldn't risk her getting hurt. He couldn't risk letting her die. He fired with only one thing on his mind; eliminating all possibility of that. He had a clear shot. He could have aimed with a view to just disabling the girl, but it would be no guarantee she wouldn't get another shot off. The only absolute way to keep Olivia safe was to shoot to kill. So he had done it, without a second thought.

Afterwards he had stared in shock as the teenager fell to the ground, but instead of remorse, he had felt only relief. Relief that it was over, that Olivia was safe, that her life was no longer in imminent danger. This horrifying truth stayed with him, nagged at him over the following days as he agonized over his actions, eventually leading him to the conclusion that his only alternative now was to hand in his papers. He was so tired, so unbelievably tired. He'd wanted to talk to her, to explain, but he was terrified she would know why he had done it and that she wouldn't understand, or worse that she might even try to convince him to stay. He knew he wouldn't any longer be able to hide the fact that his feelings towards her were more than just partnership, more than just friendship, that she had come to mean too much. He was married for God's sake. He believed in the sanctity of his vows. He wouldn't destroy his marriage. His only option was to walk away.

His fingers still rested on the black and white photo, now against her cheek. His vision was blurred by the tears that had filled his eyes yet did not fall. His mind kept going back there; back to the image of her lying there on his bed, her hands and feet bound; that animal on top of her, the sound of her pleading whimper, a helpless cry so far removed from the person he knew that it was thoroughly incomprehensible: for that plea represented someone broken, vulnerable and uncertain. Then as he heard the ripping of fabric, he had begged and pleaded with God to stop this in whatever way he could, for he truly had no idea how this could possibly be part of any greater plan. What he was witnessing now was pure horror, pure evil. As the bed began to creak, he fought desperately against the overwhelming desire to vomit.

His face crumpled as he tried to force the awful memories away. Seeing her, the beaten blank expression in her eyes, it had broken him. He had wanted to turn away, but then her eyes had sought his and he had been unable to move, unwilling to let her think for a second that she should bear any shame for what was happening to her. He hoped she could sense what he was silently trying to convey to her: that she just needed to hold on a little longer, because she could and would survive this, that he was so desperately sorry this was happening to her and distraught that he couldn't do a damn thing to prevent it. She had stared back with a resigned expression in her eyes and it was this that had disconcerted him the most. She looked like she had already given up.

"Survive," he mouthed, desperately hoping he could somehow transfer some measure of strength to her, give her hope, anything to dispel the hopelessness that was emanating from that dead expression in her eyes.

But she closed her eyes tightly and remained like that throughout while her attacker pummeled into her relentlessly, intent on his unfathomable endeavor to commandeer and completely destroy the soul of another human being.

Olivia's apartment. Four months ago

She had no idea how much time had passed. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours. The cigarette burn on her chest was stinging, drawing most of her attention. It felt like a burrowing fire was working its way deeper and deeper into her flesh. She longed for something cold to place on it and soothe the pain.

The waiting was unbearable. After branding her with the cigarette, he had returned to the sofa and to his beer. He had switched on the TV and was chuckling periodically at some random comedy show. Once the initial shock at her predicament dissipated a little, she found the discomfort begin to consume all her conscious thought. This position on the chair with her hands pinned behind her back was torturous. Her back and shoulders ached and she could feel the cuffs digging into her wrists. Every time she tried to shift a little to relieve the discomfort of the hardness of the bottom of the chair, it strained them all the more, the pain making her wince. She had also started feeling hungry. It was inexplicable to her how her body could possibly be thinking of food at a time like this, but the gnawing sensation in her stomach felt like it was growing by the minute. However, by far the sensation she feared the most was the one she felt building in her bladder.

She tried to ignore it. She knew it was being made worse by the fact that it was playing on her mind. As she weighed up the possibilities she couldn't decide which was worse: the thought of him watching her relieve herself in the bathroom or the possibility of her soiling herself right there in the chair. She decided that trying to ignore the sensation and focusing on something else would be, for now at least, the best course of action.

She glanced around the room wondering how on earth he could have got in. She also had no idea how he had found out her address in the first place. Had he been following her? Her door hadn't been tampered with, of that she was certain. He must have come in through a window then – via the fire escape? It baffled her. It wasn't like her to leave a window unlocked. She was pretty security conscious, especially since the last time her apartment had been broken into. Maybe she had been careless though? She had to admit that the last few days, she had been feeling the pressure of the job acutely.

Her body ached in so many places it was getting harder to discern where hurt the most. She was exhausted anyway, but the constant state of hyper-alertness; waiting and trying to anticipate his next move, wondering exactly what he would do and when he might do it, was draining. She closed her eyes, letting her head loll forward as she found herself unwillingly giving in to her body's weariness. It was not that she thought she was in any way capable of real sleep right now, not in this uncomfortable position, not with Lewis mere meters away, but more that she was allowing her body some kind of limited reprieve. Not that it lasted long.

She realized she must have in fact been semi-dozing, for she was only aware of him when she felt his hand on her knee. Startled, she instantly pressed her legs as close together as she could. It occurred to her that it was hardly going to prevent much, should he decide to assault her there and then, but it was an instinctive reaction. She realized it didn't go unnoticed when she caught his amused grin.

"You know you really do need to relax a little," he commented thoughtfully, stroking her hair gently as he spoke.

She watched him nervously as he then stepped over to her kitchen counter behind her to retrieve something. She couldn't remember him putting anything there, but at some point he must have. He returned and she soon realized it was a bottle of some kind of dark liquor, maybe whiskey. She wasn't entirely certain.

"This should help," he said, unscrewing the lid. "Now look. I'm going to have to remove the tape. He reached for the gun and pressed it firmly against the side of her head. "You scream or shout and I'll pull the trigger," he warned in a tone that left her in no doubt that he absolutely meant it.

She could feel the skin on her lip peeling away as he roughly ripped off the tape. She felt the wound with her tongue, tasting blood immediately. He suddenly grabbed at her hair, tilting her head back and bringing the neck of the bottle to her mouth. She could already smell and taste the vile liquid. Whiskey had never been a favorite of hers and neat it turned her stomach. She tried to refuse, but he forced the neck into her mouth and began to pour it down her throat. She spluttered, gagging as she tried to spit out as much as she could, but he kept pouring. It was impossible not to swallow some. It burned as it went down and she felt her empty stomach lurching in protest. For a few precious seconds, he stopped pouring, but as soon as she halted spluttering, he raised the bottle up again, continuing the onslaught relentlessly.

She coughed, tears now pouring from her eyes from the exertion.

"Please," she spluttered. She felt the gun as he jammed it even harder against her head.

"Drink!" he snapped, continuing to force the alcohol down her throat.

She wasn't sure how much she had actually ingested. She had managed to spit out a fair amount and some had run down her chin, but even so, she knew she had taken in a significant amount. She hadn't eaten in hours and she wasn't used to straight spirits anyway, so knew it would affect her rapidly. Lewis was chuckling to himself as she grimaced, swallowing repeatedly and licking her lips, as she desperately tried to get rid of the awful taste in her mouth.

He placed his hands on her thighs and pulled at them, attempting to part her legs.

"No," she groaned miserably. Then she tried a different tack. "You know this won't end in your favor," she told him, hoping that she could convince him to see sense and decide that the risk of hurting a member of the NYPD was too great, even for him.

"Quit trying to talk your way out of this," he said roughly, sliding his fingers inwards, prodding at her through her clothes, making her shudder in repulsion and disbelief that this could actually be happening to her. As he pressed down with rough fingers, her panic suddenly amplified and unable to just sit there and let this animal have at her, she screeched as loudly as she could, once again desperately hoping that someone in her building might hear her and bring help.

"What did I tell you about screaming?" he admonished her angrily, slapping his hand hard against her mouth to muffle her cries.

The subsequent blow to her head with the barrel of the gun knocked her unconscious almost instantly. She felt pain exploding inside her head and then was vaguely aware of the sensation of falling, the bump as her body hit the ground and then nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Olivia's apartment

He slipped the key into the lock, taking a deep breath and turning it slowly. It was the first time he had been here since finding her unconscious in her bed two days ago. It wasn't that which made him nervous to enter though. It was the memory of that time he had broken in, after her abduction, before the place had been tidied up. It was barely a week since he had left the hospital, almost two weeks since his wife had been shot and killed. He had known it was wrong, that it was a crime scene, that Olivia herself would likely never have approved, but he had been unable to resist coming and seeing with his own eyes exactly what had happened. He had wanted, needed to understand every single thing that had led to the sickening events that had followed in his home. So, using the key she had given him all those years ago, he had come, swiftly slit the seal on the door with his pocket knife and then slipped inside. He realized it was perhaps illogical that he was so strongly reminded of that visit now, for he had actually been here a few times since, but he supposed it was perhaps the fact he was once again slipping inside without her permission.

He had gasped when he had seen the sheer destruction, despite much of it mirroring the state of his own place after Lewis had finished there. As he had stared in dismay at the overturned furniture, disjointed memories of the numerous occasions he had been there over the years of their partnership bombarded him; the nights he had sat with her mulling over a case, or sometimes just chatting about nothing in particular, glad to talk to someone who knew that he didn't want to talk. It was often so much easier than going home. His wife tried to understand, begged him even to share with her the things that he had seen that had affected him so deeply, but how could he burden her with the depravity he came into contact with? How was that in any way fair? It was so much easier to sit with Olivia, share a pizza and pretend everything was normal despite both of them knowing it never would be. The unspoken understanding went a long way to dispelling the worst of the cloud that sometimes descended on them after a particularly rough day. He could then return home to his wife afterwards, slightly more grounded, ready to play the role of the husband and father he thought they deserved and that he longed to be.

He had continued to wander around and take in the devastation of her apartment. There was still blood spattered on the floor and he wondered why no one had yet cleaned it up. Were they expecting _her_ to do it? It seemed preposterous to him. He remembered how he had felt that first time he had returned to his own place after being released from the hospital. That had been bad enough, despite the fact that cleaners had been in and everything had been scrubbed, furniture righted and anything broken thrown out. He knew he had Maureen to thank for organizing everything. He would be eternally grateful to his eldest daughter, especially since she too was trying to come to terms with the devastating loss of her mother. Surely someone could have done the same for Olivia?

It had hit him then. Of course no one would. Her independence and absolute refusal to ask for help with anything was at the core of her being. Her new colleagues would never have dared challenge her independence the way he had done. They would never have sat outside her apartment waiting for her to flash the lights to prove she was safely inside, or insisted they drive her home every night or faced her wrath after covertly ordering a detail to protect her. They would have taken her at her word when she had said she was fine. The realization hit him then like a slug to the chest. Walking away like he had done had left her with absolutely no one to properly look out for her. The guilt bore into him as for the first time he really recognized the implication of what he had done.

Still struggling with the cognizance of his own utter selfishness, he had stepped towards her bedroom, nervously pushing the door open, not certain exactly what he would find, but knowing that he had to see inside. She had insisted afterwards that she hadn't been raped, yet he knew different. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had been forced to watch as Lewis had violated her on his own bed in front of him and his daughter. It had also occurred to him that her nightmare had almost certainly begun much earlier. He couldn't even begin to imagine what hell she had been through before they had reached his place. He was doubtful she would ever tell anyone the full extent. But he had seen the bruises and the dull expression in her eyes when she had been dragged inside his home, the signs that for anyone else would have immediately screamed 'victim'. But this was Olivia. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. How was he supposed to associate that term with his strong and beautiful ex-partner?

As he had glanced around her room from the doorway, he had been almost surprised to see that despite the bed, which had been stripped of the mattress and sheets, it seemed relatively unscathed. He stepped further inside and sank down onto the metal frame. It was almost impossible to get his head around the absolute horror of it all. How could this have happened? How had they let him get to her? Why had no one considered that he might have honed in on her? And why had it taken two whole days before anyone had realized she was missing?

His gaze had then fallen on a photo on her dresser and he stood in amazement, stepping closer to further inspect it raising a hand to his mouth as the guilt at leaving her once again hit. There was no denying the significance of seeing a photo of himself in such a prominent position in her bedroom. He reached out, gently caressing the frame with his fingers, tears brimming in his eyes as he fought to contain his emotions.

"Please, forgive me, Liv," he had whispered and it was a sentiment he repeated now as he stood once again in her apartment, no closer to comprehending how any of this could possibly have happened.

Four months ago

_She could feel him lifting her, but she was powerless to struggle. Her body felt so unbelievably heavy. Even opening her eyes would be too much effort. She could hear him grunting slightly from the effort as he pulled her, his arms under her shoulders, her legs dragging on the ground. She felt her leg hit something and the sensation confused her. It was a dull pain that barely registered as such, yet it felt wrong somehow. She heard a sound emanating from her own throat but she didn't recognize it. It was a low moan, a capitulating cry that was so foreign that she almost wondered if he had another woman in the room there with them. She ransacked her brain, trying to think where she could possibly be. She remembered the discomfort of her arms being pinned behind her back for what seemed like an eternity, but she couldn't remember why or even when that was now. Everything was so foggy. It was as though she were dreaming, except she had never had a dream anything like this before. _

_ She knew she needed to open her eyes, check if this was real or just a deep recess of an imagination run wild, but her eyelids were so heavy. She could smell him: it was a distinctive odor which turned her stomach. She knew that smell and it terrified her, but she couldn't remember exactly why. Everything was so disjointed. She remembered walking home. She remembered looking up and seeing the full moon and marveling at how particularly beautiful it was that night. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It wasn't often she had time to take in small details like that. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had just stared up at the night. It had been strangely soothing: a constant in a universe that frequently unsettled her. _

_ Then she remembered why she had been so unsettled that particular night. When was that? It felt so long ago. It was Lewis. He was in her apartment. She shuddered as she remembered the glinting dark form of the gun pointed right at her. She had stared at the barrel, mesmerized, disbelieving. It was him holding her now. It had to be. She desperately wanted to struggle, but her body wouldn't respond to her mind's commands. She was suddenly aware of the nausea. Her stomach was churning and she felt the taste of stale alcohol in her mouth. Was it whiskey? Had he laced it with something stronger? Something damp was on her face. Was he going to smother her now? Did she really care? _

_ She could hear a car horn outside. Someone was honking pretty loudly and she wondered if it was someone coming to help her. Her body felt strange. She had been lifted onto something soft. She could smell the familiar aroma of her washing powder and it occurred to her that she was on her bed. She had been right all along. She was sleeping. There was no other explanation. At least the nausea had subsided. Had he gone? She couldn't hear him or feel him any longer. If only she could open her eyes, she could wake up and everything would be alright. She was so tired though. Just five minutes more. Then she'd try and get up. _

_ Something was tickling her arm. She tried to move her hand to scratch it, but her arms were pinned above her head. It was as though she were paralyzed Had she been in an accident? Could she possibly be in hospital right now? She felt a hand gently running down her leg. It must be a nurse. She must have seen her distress and so was trying to help her relax. She wanted to thank her, but the words wouldn't form. Her mouth was so dry. She tentatively ran her tongue over her parched lips, feeling the rough skin, surprised when she touched what felt like swelling. It tasted coppery. _

_ The hand had descended down her leg and was now ascending, turning inwards, tracing a path up her inner thigh that suddenly felt wrong, dangerous. Nurses didn't do this, did they? Uncertain, she knew she didn't want this, but she couldn't muster the energy to fight it. She was suddenly all too aware of a throbbing sensation in her head that she hadn't noticed until now. How, she wasn't certain, for surely it had been there all along? It was no doubt being exacerbated by the strange buzzing noise that now filled her ears. What was happening to her? She felt she could no longer control anything. Her ability to make any kind of decision had been replaced by only the sensation of things being done to her body that she couldn't comprehend. _

_ She finally forced her eyes open and the first thing she saw was the photo on her dresser. He was as though he were looking straight at her, that grin on his face reminding her of something that strangely made her sad, yet she couldn't quite remember why. She stared back intently, convinced of the strength behind those blue eyes. She was certain he wouldn't let her give up. He would tell her to fight to the bitter end. It was as though his eyes were pleading with her to hold on, that she was in fact stronger than she thought. She felt a welcome sense of calm settle over her. She could feel herself drifting. She didn't have to be in this room anymore. She could go anywhere she liked. He would go with her. The insistent pulling at her clothes didn't seem important anymore. The only thing that mattered was staying focused on him. _

_ Then she felt rough hands pulling at her head, forcing her eyes away from her source of strength._

_ "Who is that?" she heard him ask curiously, but she didn't answer. She closed her eyes. If she couldn't physically see him, at least her mind could bring him to her. _

_ She was alone now, she was certain of it. She couldn't hear him. She wasn't sure when he had gone or for how long, but she didn't care. She felt so dizzy. The nausea was returning. She wondered if she had entered a different realm. Was she even still living?_

_ She felt him shaking her, barking at her to open her eyes. Wearily she considered doing what he asked. The sensation of her full bladder was excruciating. She wondered if she should mention it. She didn't think she would be able to hold it in much longer. Part of her no longer cared though. She felt like she was floating in a surreal world, neither dead nor alive, neither oblivious nor aware. She knew it would be wrong to relieve herself here, yet what difference would it actually make?_

_ He was yelling at her again, slapping her face. She forced her eyes open and it took a second to register exactly what he was holding. It instantly filled her with a terror such as she had never known. It was the only thing that mattered now, the only thing she could focus on. She tried to back away but she was pinned to the bed. There was no escape. She couldn't understand why this thing he was holding terrified her so much, yet it did. She would do anything to get away from it, away from him. She could feel the dampness between her legs, seeping through her clothes. She had been unable to hold out any longer. It was no longer important however, for he was leaning in, lifting her shirt, exposing her skin. She flinched and he chuckled, amused, appreciative. As he brought the object down towards her stomach she was aware she had started screaming, but his hand immediately clasped her mouth and seconds later, as the heat seared into her flesh, everything blissfully went black. _


	4. Chapter 4

4

Olivia's hospital room

He headed back to the hospital and went straight up to her room. Even though he hadn't been contacted while he had been gone, he still couldn't help hoping that he would walk in and she'd be sitting up in bed, complaining about being stuck in the hospital. In his fantasy she'd be glad he was there, explain how her suicide attempt had been a huge mistake and reassure him that she would never do anything like that again. Knowing her as he did, he supposed she'd probably also chide him for going to such 'unnecessary' effort just to bring her a few objects of comfort from home and the thought made him smile. He soon discovered, however, that in fact there had been absolutely no change in her condition. She was still lying there motionless on the bed, for all appearances sleeping. He went straight over to her and tentatively reached for her hand, taking it in his, the very fact that she was unconscious giving him the courage to make the gesture.

"Hi, Liv," he said softly. "It's me, Elliot. I'm back."

He wasn't expecting a response, but even so the complete lack of one still disheartened him. It had been two days now. Surely she should be awake by now? He was starting to question if she really would come through this alright.

He reached into his bag and withdrew the items he had taken from her apartment: the scarf her mother had given her a couple of months before she had died, the small framed picture she had of Calvin, the book she had been reading most recently which had been left open on her bedside table, her toothbrush, hairbrush and her make-up bag, a few items of clothing, including some underwear that he had debated for a good ten minutes on before finally opening the draw and scooping a handful or the nearest items, without even daring to properly look, and then finally the blanket.

He sighed as he remembered the day he had given it to her. It had started with some harmless joking around. She had been complaining about being chilly and he had teased her vigorously, suggesting that age was catching up with her. Instead of giving as good as she got, as she usually did at his feeble attempts at humour, she had walked away, stating she needed some time in the crib. However, as she had left, he had caught an expression of such forlorn sadness on her face that suddenly it made him feel terribly guilty that he hadn't noticed before that something was obviously bothering her that day. He had followed her to the crib, but she had insisted she was just tired and that she would be fine after a short nap. Of course he hadn't been convinced; in fact she had looked as close to tears as he had ever seen her, but she had explicitly asked to be left alone, so he had complied.

Returning to the bullpen, he had made an excuse about needing to run an errand relating to the kids and so he had slipped out and gone to the nearest department store where he had purchased a pretty knee blanket. He had slipped it onto her chair later that day while she was busy in the interview room, with a short note: 'To keep you warm.' When she had found it, she had looked at him questioningly and he had nodded, confirming it was indeed he who had placed it there. He had seen the way her chin had quivered ever so slightly as she had thanked him and was pleased that she obviously liked it and appreciated the gesture. She had known it was his way of apologising and after that the tense atmosphere between them dissipated… Not that he ever did find out exactly what had upset her that day.

He ran his fingers over the fabric now, wondering whether she had known just how much he had wanted to say to her by giving her that blanket, how much he had longed that she could trust him enough to confide in him, tell him what was troubling her and why she was feeling down that day and how much he wished that he could banish all traces of any sadness or loneliness and let her know just how much he cared for her, despite being married, despite not being able to be there for her in the way she deserved. Every winter since she had brought it into the office and placed it over her knees while they sat at their desks filling out paperwork and it felt comforting to him; almost like a tiny part of him was touching her, giving her a small token of everything he wished he could, if he lived in an alternate universe perhaps. Parts of the blanket had gone threadbare by now, the colours faded, but she had still kept it and it had touched him greatly when he had spotted it in her room.

It was warm here in the hospital. There was no real need for a blanket, but even so he spread it over the bottom of the bed, over her feet, knowing that he was doing it more for him than he was for her

Four months ago

She opened her eyes wearily, immediately noting she was back in the chair. It certainly explained the ache in her shoulders and back. He arms were pulled behind her once again, but this time it felt different and she realised she was no longer cuffed, but instead he had secured her arms to the back of her seat with some kind of rope. It felt rough against her skin, itchy in fact, but even so it was a little more comfortable than the hard metal of the cuffs which had mercilessly dug into her skin after he had tightened them so brutally. She had no memory of returning to her living room. She wasn't certain if her sketchy memory being in the bedroom was real or imagined. Looking down and seeing she was wearing a different pair of black pants filled her with dismay. She desperately tried to remember how she had come to be wearing them, but she couldn't recall anything.

She turned her head, looking for him. Had he left? Was it finally over? She heard the sound of drawers being opened roughly in her bedroom and felt her stomach muscles tighten in renewed apprehension. What was he doing in there? Her thoughts returned to her fresh clothing. Had he changed her clothes while she was unconscious? The very idea repulsed her. Then a worse thought occurred to her: had he raped her? She desperately tried to remember something, anything, but it was all blank. She tried to concentrate on how it felt between her legs, but it was hard to really tell. She didn't feel wet, but she did feel uncomfortable, slightly sore maybe, but her whole body ached and she couldn't help but wonder if thinking about it so intensely like this was making her feel sensations that weren't even there. Besides she still felt dizzy, her head was aching and she couldn't even be certain that any of this was real. She couldn't trust her own ability to properly evaluate her situation. She felt intoxicated and it wasn't a state she enjoyed.

Then she realised with horror that she no longer needed to pee.

She heard him approach and she anxiously watched the doorway, waiting for him to appear, a feeling of utter mortification washing over her as she tried to come to terms with the fact that she must have relieved herself in front of him at some point and given the change of clothes she wasn't too confident it was in a bathroom. If his intent was to break her, she wasn't certain it would take much more. She had never felt so humiliated in her life.

"You're awake," he commented crossing the room quickly and proceeding to check her bindings. She groaned as he pulled on her arms, checking the strength of the knots. Then he pointedly ran his fingers down the side of her face, his touch gentle but his intent terrifying.

"So who's Elliot?" he then asked, taking her by surprise. She couldn't think why his name had suddenly come up like that. She stared at him, her mind racing, trying to work out how he could possibly know the name of her ex-partner.

"You know it's rude not to answer a perfectly reasonable question," he snarled, gripping her neck tightly with both hands, preventing air from getting to her lungs. She tried to gasp, her eyes widening in panic at this sudden new form of torment. Was he now going to strangle her to death?

"So who is he?" he repeated, loosening his hold on her slightly so that she could answer.

"I don't understand…" she stuttered, as she tried to catch her breath. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"You were whispering his name back in the bedroom," he said with a nefarious smile.

She inwardly cringed. She had no recollection of doing that or even much about being in the bedroom in the first place, but she had to admit it wasn't the first time she had been accused of this exact same thing. Her stint undercover as Persephone James immediately sprang to mind.

"Who is he?"

"Just an old co-worker," she said carefully, deciding that playing along and answering his questions as truthfully as she could while revealing as little as possible was the best course of action.

"Don't lie to me!" he suddenly snapped and once again she felt his hands around her throat, this time squeezing harder than before.

She could feel the panic building exponentially, as she saw her life flash before her eyes. Was this really it? Was it all going to end here? She was overwhelmed by the absolute conviction that she truly did not want to die. Tears spilled from her eyes from the strain of fighting to breathe and she wondered how long she had been deprived of oxygen. It felt like minutes already. Surely it wouldn't be much longer before she passed out? Then his hands finally fell away from her neck and she gasped, drawing in breath to the relief of her screaming lungs. The sound of his heavy breathing resounded in her ears only serving to heighten her fear, for his presence seemed almost to mirror omnipotence. Her very life was subject to his whim and he made sure she knew it. She had never felt so vulnerable.

"Do you feel like telling me the truth now?"

"What do you want me to say? He was my partner. We worked together for a long time. He left. I got a new partner. That's it."

He cocked his head and looked straight at her. She shifted her gaze downwards refusing to meet his eyes.

"You and he were getting it on, weren't you?"

She shook her head exasperated. What was it with everyone assuming the pair of them had been romantically involved? What happened to the idea of a partnership or friendship being just that? Why was everyone so obsessed with the notion that they were humping each other at any opportunity? What did people seriously think? That they were nipping off in the middle of a work shift, unable to contain their unquenchable mutual desire, desperate to get their hands on each other the second their boss's back was turned? Nothing infuriated her more than this line of questioning and it showed in her tone as she coldly informed him of the reason she would never have gone near her ex-partner like that.

"He's married."

"Oh I get it."

"Get what exactly?" Her irritation almost outweighed her fear at this point.

"You wanted him, didn't you? I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice. I've never met anyone as bottled up as you. Well sweetheart, you will find out that I can give you a way better time than he ever could. Just a pity he can't witness it, huh? Would be fun actually to let him see exactly what he's missing out on. Where is this guy now anyway? Is he local? Maybe we should pop in and say hello?"

"You're out of your mind. Please, think about what you are doing? Just go, Lewis. You can still get out of this. Just go now and run without looking back. You know the longer you hold me, the worse it will be for you. You won't be getting out of this if you don't move now, I'm telling you."

She saw him lunge at her, but restrained as she was, she could do nothing to prevent the blow. She cried out in shock as he made contact with her upper body and she immediately felt an exploding pain on her left side. It felt like he had literally shattered a rib. She could hardly breathe from the pain. It completely overwhelmed her senses. She was barely aware he had left the room. She could see stars swimming around her and as she breathed in, another jolt of pain hit her so hard she thought she was probably on the verge of passing out again.

She could hear him ransacking the drawers of her cabinets, obviously looking for something, pulling objects out and throwing them to the ground. She hardly cared though. The only thing she really gave much attention to was the continuing pain in her chest. The initial blow had been the worst, but it still hurt like hell, so she didn't pay much attention to what he was looking for. It didn't take her long to find out though, for a few minutes later, he returned, a triumphant grin on his face, holding her address book in his hand. Warily she watched him thumb through it. Then it dawned on her that she only had one entry for an Elliot in there and he would find it sure enough. Her only hope was a distraction, anything to take his focus off that address book.

"Lewis, stop. I'll do anything you want." she said quickly.

"Really," he said, pausing for a second to glance up at her, surveying her curiously, trying to gauge her sincerity.

"Yes," she replied miserably. Her own words made her feel nauseous. She felt like she had given up, but she couldn't let this monster anywhere near Elliot's family. She would never be able to live with herself.

But he shook his head and continued thumbing through her book, stopping towards the end She could only assume he had reached "S".

"Oh look what we have here. Queens, huh? That seems pretty doable to me."

"You know that's a very old address," she said hurriedly. "I haven't heard from him in two years actually, but there was a rumour he moved house."

"Is that so? Well we'll find out, won't we?"

"Please. Lewis. I'm serious now. I'll do anything."

"You know what, this is really getting tedious."

She watched in dismay as he reached for the tape which had been lying on the kitchen counter behind her. He had obviously had enough discussion.

"Maybe you should have another drink first though," he said with a sudden smile.

Even though she had already paid the price for resisting so far with the broken bones, burns and bruises to show for it, she still struggled. She almost hated herself for doing it, wondering why she was deliberately making this so much harder for herself, but even she recognised that it was such an ingrained character trait. She was a fighter. She always had been. Ultimately though, she found herself spluttering on the vile liquid as he forced it down her throat, shuddering at the feel of his hands on her face as he once again stroked her skin reminding her that she no longer got to decline, that he was in charge now and that she would do anything that took his fancy.

Her stomach churning after the onslaught of yet more liquor, he slapped the tape back over her mouth. She slumped in the chair, leaning her head forward as she battled to keep the contents of her stomach down, knowing that vomiting with tape over her mouth was definitely not in her best interest. He hadn't given her anything to eat and her stomach was painfully empty. As a result it felt as though the effects of the alcohol took hold almost instantly. Already the room was swaying once again.

"As soon as it gets dark, we're going to go pay this Elliot a visit," she heard him say. "We'll have to be sure to make it memorable for him, won't we?"

Miserably, she closed her eyes, desperately hoping that this was just another attempt to torment her and that he wasn't actually being serious.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Olivia's hospital room

It was quiet this evening. Most of the other visitors must have gone home, for usually he could hear the commotion in the corridor of people walking by since her room was only the second one along but right now it was virtually silent. He had heard the meal service cart a while ago now but of course it had passed them by since Olivia was unable to eat. He stared at her still form sadly, the sight of her laying there, the intravenous fluids flowing into her veins making her look so oddly vulnerable to him. He had never really thought of her in that way and it was unsettling. She had always been so tough, almost infallible in his eyes. Of course there had been moments during their long partnership, not least the time she had collapsed in his arms after inadvertently ingesting some toxic mushrooms, something he still remembered vividly.

His fear had pierced through him as he had caught her fall and frantically yelled out for a bus. Holding her limp in his arms, feeling her pressed hard against his chest, her soft hair brushing against his face as he unwittingly breathed in her scent, he had felt something stir deep inside. Suddenly and inexplicably he had been overwhelmed by the strong yearning to protect her: and not just in the realm of his job as her partner. It ran much deeper than that. It was astonishing to him as she was probably the least in need of protection out of all the people he knew. Fiercely independent, feisty and more than capable of defending herself, he knew he was glad he would personally never be on the receiving end of that tough detective side of her. Unable to reconcile his sudden desire with the person he knew her to be, he had simply tried to put it out of his head. Predictably, she had bounced back fast from her temporary health scare. She always had… until now. She was a fighter through and through, except right now it looked as though she had given up.

Emboldened in the knowledge that she was completely unaware, he reached out and touched her face, gently running his fingers close to her hairline, feeling her soft skin, once again overwhelmed by that same desire to protect her somehow. He longed to take her fully in his arms again, feel her against his chest knowing he would be soothed by the movements and sounds of her breathing and her familiar scent. He wanted her close for he knew that in his arms absolutely no further harm could possibly come to her because he would do the job he should have done when she had turned up at his place; he would keep her safe. He would never let anything bad happen to her again.

He wished he had done things differently. He had believed after witnessing everything Olivia had gone through in his own home and then with Kathy's death that he would no longer have the capacity to feel anything again, but now as he repeatedly begged God to let Olivia recover from this, he realised pain could run so much deeper than he had thought. It overwhelmed him. Losing Olivia too would be just unbearable and if it weren't for his kids, he knew he would be wondering if it was worth carrying on with life himself.

He sighed. Putting aside his religious beliefs, he knew that ultimately he could never leave his kids like that. It puzzled him how Olivia could have done this, knowing how devastated he would be. Surely she had to have known that? Surely she couldn't have thought he wouldn't care? Whatever she had been thinking, it was clear she had been hurting even more deeply than he had imagined. If only he hadn't been so caught up in his own despair, maybe he would have been able to help her? If only he had been gentler. If only he hadn't said those things to her, for they weren't even true. He had been so confused about his feelings towards her, especially in the wake of his wife's death. It just felt wrong somehow to be thinking of Olivia so much. It almost felt like he was disrespecting Kathy by spending any time with his ex-partner at all. Unable to deal with it, he had done what he did best. He had run away.

_But no more_, he silently promised her, his hand still gently stroking her face. _I'm staying this time, Liv._ _I won't abandon you again. I promise. Just, please… don't abandon me…_

Four months ago

She had been so groggy, barely conscious, but the pain in her ribs as he had lifted her over his shoulder had startled her into full consciousness and some kind of recognition of where she was. Groaning through her gag, she felt him adjust her weight very slightly and once again a stab of pain hit and she found herself breathless as she waited for the worst of it to dissipate. Something was covering her and she couldn't see. She realised he had wrapped her in her own bed sheet before picking her up. She tried to move her limbs, but her ankles, knees and thighs were pinned together and she could only assume he had bound her somehow, perhaps with tape as she couldn't feel any knots. Unable to do anything practical about her predicament, she turned her attention to trying to work out where on earth he was taking her. Then she remembered how he had been threatening to pay Elliot a visit and regardless of the pain and the futility, she began to struggle.

"Quit wriggling!" he instructed her, his tone sharp and impatient.

Despite not being able to see, she had guessed they were outside, descending the fire escape outside her bedroom. It made sense that he would avoid the main entrance. She wondered what time it was. Maybe someone would see them and call the police? It had to look suspicious, a man carrying a wriggling human shaped lump under a bed sheet. Surely someone would spot them?

Each downward step jolted her painfully and she gritted her teeth as she silently counted the steps, trying to work out how much further it could possibly be until they reached the ground. She hated the smell of him, feeling him touching her, everything about him. Being this physically close to him, being able to feel his movements, hear his breathing as he carried her down, it sickened her. He must be struggling with her weight though, she decided. She guessed the longer he carried her, the more challenging it would be to maintain his balance. So deliberately she waited.

Once she judged they were about half way down the stairwell – high enough to hopefully cause significant damage but low enough that enough time would have passed to have hopefully weakened him a little, she suddenly jerked hard, her intent to cause both of them to fall. Whatever the cost to herself, she knew she had to do everything she could to prevent him from moving her somewhere else. Leaving her apartment would make the chances of someone finding her so much lower, plus she was still worried he might make good on his threat to pay Elliot a visit. The thought horrified her on two levels. Besides the obvious, there was also the fact that she hadn't seen the man since he had left and she knew she was anything but ready to face those demons, especially with Lewis being the one calling the shots.

She felt him stumble and she braced herself for the inevitable, hoping that she would come through the fall without breaking her neck or back or any other bone in her body. She didn't even dare to imagine what further damage it might do to her broken rib. She closed her eyes, hoping he would let her go and tumble down first, so that she could land on him, cushioning herself and with any luck completely incapacitating the bastard. Her only hope was to knock him unconscious and attract the attention of someone, since tied up as she was, she knew she wouldn't be going anywhere without help. It seemed that once again luck was not on her side however as she felt him only half drop her as he stumbled. Her knees painfully crashed against the steps, but to her dismay, she didn't feel him or herself falling any further. Instead she felt his vice-like grip around her waist, preventing her from slipping any further out of his grasp.

"Shit!" she heard him exclaim.

The disappointment was crushing. She felt absolutely helpless. The monster was relentless. She hated the very concept of the 'no-win situation', preferring to believe that somehow there would always be a way to turn things in your favour if you were patient, level-headed and willing to take risks sometimes. Her work as a detective had often resolved around finding answers to impossible situations Right now, however, she was starting to wonder if she had been sadly wrong and for the first time since he had overpowered her in her apartment, she found the fight inside her dissipating. It was as though all the strength had left her body and when he heaved her, forcing her into a sitting position on the step, she didn't even flinch. What was the point anymore?

"You stupid bitch," he told her, backhanding her then. He struck the side of her head, although at least the sheet had cushioned some of the impact. It was far worse the way the sudden blow caused pain to ricochet through her body. She felt even more convinced that at least one rib was broken. She had never experienced anything like this before. The next thing she felt was him heaving her back up over his shoulder again and she realised glumly that she was back exactly where she had started, no better off but with fresh bruises to add to her previous ones. He was still in control and she was still being taken God knows where. She was too defeated now to even really care. It was much better to give in to the dizziness again. Unconsciousness was so much more appealing than her reality.

…

She opened her eyes, alert again when she felt him drop her onto the back seat of a car. She had no idea whose car it might be, given the fact he had next to no money and no record of owning a vehicle. She supposed it was probably stolen. It gave her slight hope that an alert traffic officer would recognise the plates – assuming it had been reported that was, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. She grimaced in pain as he yanked her arms, slipping a rope through the bindings on her wrists and tying it to the metal bottom of the front passenger seat so that her arms were pulled downwards towards the floor and she was forced to lie on the backseat. She felt him adjusting the sheet over her body and supposed she was adequately hidden from sight should anyone peer inside. The strain of the new position reminded her yet again of just how painful a broken rib actually was and with involuntary tears in her eyes, she concentrated on taking deep breaths through her nose, willing the worst of it to dissipate quickly.

"Comfortable?" he asked her. It was as though she could hear the smirk in his voice. 'Sadistic' seemed almost too innocuous a term to describe this monster.

She heard him buckle his seatbelt and it occurred to her how surreal that was. Here he was a murder-rapist with a woman tied up in the back of his car and yet he bothered with a seatbelt. It just seemed absurd to her.

She closed her eyes as he started the engine. Being moved terrified her, but the one good thing was that while he was behind the wheel, at least she would be left alone. She was exhausted, so much so that she thought she may actually even fall asleep despite the uncomfortable position and the itch building up on the inside of her left leg, Wriggling did nothing to relieve it. She turned her thoughts to where they might be going. For a while she thought she had a vague sense of the direction they were going in from the turns he made, but it didn't take long for her to completely lose all her bearings. She had no idea if they were really heading towards Queens or if he was taking her out of the city somewhere. The thought of being taken somewhere secluded terrified her. The chance of them finding her before he inflicted even more damage was looking grim. She was starting to seriously question if she would even escape from this with her life.

…

She was startled awake by the slamming of the car door beside her. Instantly on full alert, her heart began racing as she wondered if they had arrived at their destination. She felt him pulling the sheet down and for the first time in what felt like hours, she could see; not that there was much view in the position she was in. She waited nervously as he untied the knot pinning her wrists down towards the floor and cried out involuntarily when she felt his arm against her tender rib, as he pulled her more upright.

"Thirsty?" he asked. Then she saw what he had in his hand. It was another bottle of whiskey. She groaned. She hated the stuff anyway, but this cheap shit he was forcing down her throat was revolting. She shook her head weakly. She had barely shaken off the nausea from the last dose of alcohol. She hated that feeling. She'd take any other symptom in the world over that horrible anticipation of being sick.

"Here," he said, ripping away her tape gag. She closed her eyes, resigned yet still clinging to the hope he might change his mind. She felt the tip of the bottle as it made contact with her lips, the repugnant smell wafting up her nose and already making her stomach recoil. How much more abuse could her body take?

…

Her stomach felt warm as the liquor settled. Her lips were so dry. She'd give anything for a sip of water, but she wasn't about to risk further whiskey being forced down her throat if she asked for a drink, so she remained silent. At some point he had clambered in beside her she realised. He was taking a swig of the bottle himself, air hissing between his teeth as he savoured the initial taste of the strong liquor in his throat. She recoiled as she felt him slip his arm around her, but it made no difference. He still pulled her in close, so that her head was resting against his shoulder. He began stroking her hair lightly.

"You have such beautiful hair," he murmured, sending a cold shiver through her. She almost preferred the violence to this fictitious display of tenderness. She knew it was all part of his game. It was in any torturer's classic armoury to combine acts of apparent compassion with acts of violence. There was no way she was falling for that though. His stroking her hair was just another part of his attempt to break her. His hand was travelling to the back of her head and she tried to turn her head away. Instead he yanked her head upwards so that she was forced to look straight at him.

"Kiss me!" he instructed. She tried to protest, but his iron grip allowed her no room for movement, no room for escape.

"Kiss me!" he instructed her again and he brought his lips down hard against hers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pressing her lips firmly together to deny him proper access to her mouth. She could feel his tongue trying to force its way inside, pushing against her lips relentlessly. Then he suddenly pulled back.

"By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be begging me to kiss you," he said confidently.

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she wished she had thought to bite him. Her only instinct had been to keep him out.

"Well, I suppose we'd better make a move," he said, squeezing her waist and then pushing her upright.

For the first time she thought to look out of the window and as she took in the familiar neighbourhood her heart sank. He pulled her out of the car just in time as she heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

"Geez," he complained. "What did you fucking go and do that for?"

Wondering exactly what he expected after force feeding her alcohol on an empty stomach, she said nothing. He pushed her back inside the car and walked around to the back, rummaging around in the trunk. Once he had found what he was looking for he returned and then wiped her face and chin with a damp cloth, which she noted with disgust smelled slightly mouldy.

"You do that again and I will make sure you regret it!" he told her, before pulling her upright again and closing the car door. "Now look," he said. Once again he suddenly had his gun jammed up against her temple. She hadn't even seen him retrieve it. "This is very simple. His life depends on what you do now. One move and I end him. You hear? You are to ring the doorbell and wait for him to open up. I will take over from there. Got it?"

"This will never work," she began.

"I said got it?" he yelled moving the gun and now shoving it into her side, into the damaged rib. She yelped in shock, nodding desperately as the excruciating pain once again threatened to overwhelm her.

"Good," he said, "Come on."


	6. Chapter 6

6

The hospital

"How is she doing?"

"No change," Elliot replied curtly, hoping this wouldn't take long so that he could go back in there to be with her. One of the nurses had called him out, saying there was a visitor and reluctantly he had followed her to the waiting room to see who it was. He had recognised his former Captain even before he had entered the room. His distinctive bald outline had been visible through the opaque glass at the top of the door.

"What are the doctors saying?"

"Maybe you should speak with them?"

Cragen sighed. He knew his former star detective was angry and he didn't really blame him deep down, but it saddened him that Elliot didn't even seem to want to give him the chance to explain events from his perspective.

"She's strong," he said confidently. The words hung in the air for a while before Elliot replied.

"So people say."

"You don't think she'll pull through this?" He was surprised. It wasn't like Elliot to be this pessimistic.

"She tried to take her own life Captain! Everyone continually says how 'strong' she is, how she's a 'survivor', how she'll work through this, but this isn't some minor setback from which she can just pick herself up and carry on as if nothing ever happened. This is cataclysmic. She has been through absolute hell. Her life will never be the same again. How you of all people can sit there after everything she has suffered and throw out "she's strong" as though that will be the answer to everything, I don't know. We all know she's strong, but she's not infallible - as the fact she is here proves."

"Elliot, I didn't mean…"

"No Captain. I need to say this. It's been four months since it happened. Why now? Why did she decide she'd had enough _this_ week? I think you and everyone else who has decided that she's 'tough' and so therefore will be fine, should examine your role in this. None of you are blameless! You're her boss for goodness sake! You were supposed to be looking out for her! You were supposed to protect her! She deserved that much. _You _let this happen to her… _You_ are responsible!"

Cragen watched the younger man in dismay. Did he really think that he didn't already blame himself, that he didn't lie awake at night his mind racing, thinking of all the things he wished he had done differently, of how when he had been called to her apartment and seen the destruction there, the blood, the evidence of the kinds of torture she had suffered, that he hadn't wholly blamed himself for not having foreseen some kind of retaliation from Lewis? That it didn't eat away at him that he had acquiesced to the demands of the brass at 1PP, who had pulled him aside and ordered him not to mention the fact Lewis had dragged her to her former partner's house and wreaked havoc there too, just to protect the image of the force?

Even her colleagues had no idea of the full extent of her ordeal. They thought she had been roughed up, tortured even, but they had no idea she had been raped and no idea she had been violated and humiliated in front of the person that had meant the world to her, and his daughter. They also didn't know the full medical details, the trauma and scars that had been left on her body, a permanent reminder of it all. Had their lack of full awareness led to the false assumption that she was coping? Had they all just found it so much easier to repeat the mantra in their heads that she was strong and that she would survive this, leaving her feeling that she wasn't in a position to reveal to any of them that in fact she was slowly dying inside?

"Captain?"

All trace of his former detective's anger was gone now. All that was left was a resigned sadness.

"I'm sorry," Cragen muttered. He knew it would never be enough.

"No, I'm sorry," Elliot replied softly. "I didn't mean that stuff."

"It's true. I should have done more." It didn't matter if Elliot really blamed him or not. He blamed himself.

"I need to get back to her."

Cragen nodded. It was clear she was his priority right now and that was how it should be. Everything else could wait. She had to pull through this. He believed that despite all the time that had lapsed since he had left the special victims unit. Elliot's presence by her side now would at least be of comfort to her. He knew firsthand just how much she had missed him after he had left.

"Thanks for stopping by," Elliot said, already heading towards the door. He felt guilty for his outburst, but he had to get back to her. There would be plenty of time for talk, blame, apologies and questions afterwards.

He pushed open the door to her room and crossed over to the chair beside her bed. She was still lying there, unmoving. A modern day Sleeping Beauty seemed like a good analogy to him. If only his kiss could wake her. He didn't quite dare to go that far though. After everything she had been through, there was no way he would take advantage of her like that. Instead he slipped his hand in hers, leaning his head against her chest, soothed by the movements which assured him that she was still breathing and therefore alive.

"Liv, please wake up," he begged her. "I don't know how much longer I can do this. I need to know you are going to be alright. I… I can't lose you. Not when I've already lost so much. Losing you would just…" He couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes were swimming with tears. He was physically drained from the pure range of emotions that had continually bombarded him ever since the moment he had opened the door to her that evening four months ago. He sniffed weakly, half-heartedly attempting to stem the tears before they began to flow in earnest. Then he felt her hand tighten around his and he sat bolt upright, undecided if she had moved or if he had just imagined it.

"Liv?" he whispered tentatively, his eyes fixed on her face, searching for any sign that she might be coming around.

There was no response.

"Liv, squeeze my hand if you can hear me!" he said anxiously, concentrating fully on the sensation of her hand on his.

Then he felt it. It was unmistakable this time. She was squeezing him back.

* * *

Elliot's house

Four months ago

She rang the bell, as he had instructed. With his gun trained on her, knowing that he was serious and heartless enough to actually make good on his threats, there was no time to think of an alternative. It was hard to think of anything much anyway for her brain was so fuddled. The alcohol and pills he had forced down her were making her feel so sluggish. She wondered if they might even cause her to pass out soon. She almost looked forward to it. Her body felt so uncharacteristically heavy. Every movement was a tremendous effort. She longed for sleep, but the fear of what he might do to her while she was unaware kept her awake, semi-alert, anxiously waiting, trying to anticipate his next move.

She had almost forgotten where she was - until he opened the door anyway. Three long years had passed, yet when she saw him it was as though nothing had changed. He hadn't aged a day. If anything he looked younger, certainly more relaxed. As she gazed at him, her eyes fell on his toned muscles, letting her know that he still worked out. She loved his strength and power. She always had. She realised that he had probably been chilling out enjoying his weekend at home. He had no idea what was about to hit him. She wanted to say something, warn him, tell him to run and get as far away from this monster as he could, but she found herself staring right into his blue eyes, a myriad of unreleased emotions rushing through her as she caught his look of surprise that soon morphed into something else, something that she didn't dare to put a name to.

"Liv!" he whispered, obviously stunned to see her there. His voice penetrated her, sending waves of longing through her that shook her to her core. She suddenly yearned for an alternative universe, a place where she could throw herself into his arms and he could pull her into his and she could be there like that, unfettered, free to feel the things she had tried so hard to bury, yet had never quite succeeded. His strength, his bravery, his compassion, they were all things she desperately needed right now. If only he could see that there was something desperately wrong and put an end to it. She had never been enamoured by the shining knight in armour rescue scenario that many women fantasized about, yet suddenly she desperately hoped for his interference in her fate. She needed him to save her. They had always been such a great team, reading each others thoughts almost. Maybe he still had the knack? Maybe it wasn't all hopeless? Surely he had to know. Surely he could see her pain through her eyes.

She could hear a strange sound coming from her own throat as she suddenly sucked in air, realising for the first time that she had been holding her breath. She had been terrified he would be angry to see her, but instead she saw the elation in his eyes and she knew he was pleased to see her, even after all this time. He was glad she had come.

Then she felt herself sway and almost lose her footing as Lewis pushed past her, one hand grabbing her arm roughly as he now stood, the gun pointing at Elliot, whose expression changed quickly to confusion and then to fearful acceptance of what was happening and of what her presence there at his door really meant. She recognised his horror as he finally took in her condition, his eyes wide and disbelieving. She closed hers tightly, hating to be the one to cause him this distress. Guilt bombarded her. She had inadvertently led this creep to his house. If he hurt Elliot or any member of his family, she would never be able to forgive herself.

She flinched as Lewis slammed the door behind them.

"One move and I shoot!" he warned.

"What do you want?" Elliot asked quickly.

Olivia opened her eyes and watched him curiously. Something about his demeanour had already changed, reminding her of the person she used to know and she realised he had instantly switched back into cop mode. Maybe it truly never did leave you? Even after three years it seemed to be an automatic reaction.

"Olivia and I are about to have party," Lewis said with an amused grin. "And we thought you might like to join us."

She could feel Elliot's eyes seeking out hers, searching for some kind of explanation, some kind of confirmation that this was all a big misunderstanding. She lowered her head, unable to bear his scrutiny. She couldn't stand the thought of him knowing that she had been violated. She knew he would be devastated.

"Show me the living room," Lewis instructed. He seemed oblivious to the silent communication between them. They had always had an uncanny ability to express so much without actually speaking.

She felt the nausea rise again as she remembered parts of what he had done to her in her own living room and feared future torment was in store here. She knew Elliot would be ransacking his brain now, trying to think of a way out of this, but Lewis was shrewd and was moving fast. It didn't leave much time for planning.

She felt him shoving a roll of thick brown tape into her hands. It was only then she realised he had a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Tie him up!" he instructed her. She took a deep breath as she debated what to do. Should she leap at him, attempt to knock him down? Maybe if she took his attention away from Elliot, he would have time to react. The gun was an ominous threat though. She couldn't risk him getting shot, even killed. She knew she had to do as she was asked and bide her time and hope that somehow, together, they could turn things to their advantage.

"Sit down!" Lewis instructed Elliot, beckoning at one of the dining chairs. When he didn't respond, he suddenly struck Olivia hard in the stomach with the barrel of the gun, causing her to cry out in pain as she stumbled and fell to her knees.

"Liv!" Elliot cried, stepping towards her instinctively, but Lewis was fast and had the gun back pointing straight at him quickly.

"Sit!" he repeated stonily. "I won't repeat myself. Do as I say or I'll shoot her."

Pale faced, Elliot did as he was asked, his eyes never leaving Olivia who was still doubled over on the floor.

"Get up!" Lewis instructed her, pulling at her arms impatiently, forcing her upright again. "Tie him up!"

Reluctantly she limped towards Elliot, fingering the tape nervously. Surely there had to be another option.

"Just do it Liv," Elliot whispered to her. "It's OK. I'll be OK."

She stared at him numbly, knowing that whereas he might be, she certainly wouldn't, but of course Elliot didn't know that. He had no idea who they were dealing with. What choice did she have though?

Slowly she began to unroll some of the tape.

"Put your arms behind your back," Lewis instructed Elliot.

As she wrapped the tape around his wrists, she tried to keep it as loose as possible, but Lewis had seen what she was trying to do and approached, tightening the tape binding himself now that Elliot was somewhat better secured and less of a threat.

"You never learn do you?" he barked at her angrily. "But you will…"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she tried to ignore the dizziness that had been growing exponentially since she had been struck in the abdomen. It was getting to the point where she just wanted to lie down. She could barely focus.

"Liv, are you okay?" Elliot asked, concerned as he saw her whole figure seem to sway.

Lewis spun around just in time to see her fall to the ground.

"Guess she had a bit too much whiskey," he said unconcerned as he continued to wrap tape around his new captive.

"Liv!" Elliot cried out, desperately trying to confirm she was okay. She was lying where she had fallen, unmoving.

"She'll be fine," Lewis said impatiently. "Don't you worry about her. She's tough, that one."

Elliot watched in abject horror, squirming futilely against his restraints as Lewis stepped over towards Olivia and proceeded to kick her in her side, eliciting a weak whimper of pain.

"See, what did I tell you?" he said, turning to grin at Elliot. "She's fine."


	7. Chapter 7

7

The hospital

Elliot tensed, nervous as to how she might react when she fully gained consciousness. He had spent much of the last couple of days thinking, trying to get his head around the whole situation. He preferred to consider her actions were unintentional, that somehow she had got confused and had accidentally overdosed, but he knew that it was purely wishful thinking. The truth seemed undeniable given the note. He prayed she would wake up and be glad that she had been found, that she would accept his presence by her side, receive his heartfelt apology and trust him when he said he would be there for her from now on and that she would never again reach the point where taking her life seemed the only option. He was terrified though. What if she resented being found? What if he wasn't enough to make her want to continue living? What if there was a next time and she was successful?

His fear weighed him down as he watched her face, waiting to see if she would open her eyes. He could feel her fingers weakly gripping his. Did she know it was him? Was she consciously reaching out to him or was it some kind of instinctive reaction, an impulse triggered simply by the fact that his hand was in hers, much the same as a new-born baby instinctively grasps anything placed in his or her palm. He was both anxious for her to open her eyes yet petrified. He was so focused on watching her that it didn't even occur to him to ring for the nurse, to let her know that her patient was showing signs of regaining consciousness.

"Liv," he whispered softly, wanting so badly to move his hand to her face, to stroke her hairline and let her know that he was there with her, that he did actually care and so much more than even he had realized and had ever been willing to admit. But their relationship had never been like that and he knew that it wouldn't be appropriate right now. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her any further distress. So he remained there, his hand still in hers. Part of him wondered if even that was too much. He didn't want to let go though. He needed to know she was choosing life.

He watched mesmerized as her eyelids flickered and he held his breath as he waited for her to open her eyes and realize she was in the hospital and that he was there beside her, holding her hand _and not about to let go_.

Her confusion was apparent, so he leaned in a little closer.

"Liv, it's me, Elliot. You're in the hospital. You…" he paused. What should he say? You tried to kill yourself? You had an accident? How much did she even remember? They had found alcohol in her system after all. The doctors had explained that it was part of the reason the pills had caused such a soporific effect. He remained silent as he struggled to find the right words and he watched the puzzled look fade from her eyes as she obviously began to remember. His stomach churned as he waited for a reaction.

She started to pull her hand away from his and reluctantly he let her go.

"Why are you here?"

"The forlorn resignation in her tone hit him almost harder than the words themselves. His heart sank as he realized her reaction to him being there was nothing like the one he had foolishly dared hope for.

He didn't know how to answer. It was as though everything depended on what he said to her now. Their whole relationship was at risk. It felt like he was suspended on the most delicate of threads, dangling precariously over some kind of precipice and that the slightest wrong move could cause it to break and him to come crashing down to the ground.

How could she ask that? How could she not know exactly why he was here?

"I was worried," he said finally. It was the truth and it was neutral. Worrying about someone in hospital was a safe admission. It was a start anyway. He needed to tread slowly. He had no idea where her mind was right now. No doubt the drugs were still affecting her. She seemed groggy, her words slightly slurred perhaps. He knew he ought to call the nurse, but something held him back for a moment longer.

Suddenly her expression softened.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. There was desolation in her voice that he had never heard in her before. It thoroughly unsettled him as he stared at her, seeing the tears now filling her eyes. Watching her struggle like this was heart-breaking. How had he let things get this bad? His own grief was still almost insurmountable, but that was no excuse for shutting her out the way he had. She had needed him, more than ever, but he had turned his back and now they were here, like this.

"No, I'm sorry," he muttered, his own emotion now getting the better of him. This was all so unfair. Nobody deserved any of this. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Suddenly emboldened, he reached for her hand again and this time she didn't pull away as he cupped it in both of his and leaned in to whisper quietly to her.

"Liv, I'm sorry. I found you and I brought you here. I couldn't let you die. This, all this, it's going to get better. We're both suffering right now, but we can work through it – together. I promise."

"I feel so ashamed," she said her eyes downcast, her voice shaky.

"Don't be!" he told her firmly. "You have nothing to be ashamed about. I should have realized. Everyone should have seen it. You deserve better."

"It's no one's fault."

"You need help Liv. We're both going to get help, OK? We can do this together. I know how you feel because the truth is I've thought about it myself. The only thing stopping me was my kids. Sometimes you need a reason to pull yourself back up again. I want to be your reason, Liv. I'm going to be here for you from now on, I promise."

With the tears now coursing down her cheeks, he knew she was incapable of answering right now. He desperately wanted to pull her into his arms, but it was still ambiguous territory, so he refrained.

"I should call the nurse – let them know you are awake."

With her free hand she began wiping at her eyes, trying to stem the tears. Even now, lying in a hospital bed after a serious attempt on her life, she was trying to suppress it.

"You don't have to hide it any more," he said. Then with his own free hand he leaned over to the call button and pressed it firmly.

* * *

Four months ago

Elliot's house

Elliot squirmed against the tape but it was fruitless. His gaze kept returning to the slumped outline of his former partner, who remained on the floor where she had fallen earlier. He had no idea where the guy who had come with her was, or what he was doing. He had heard him wandering through the house, both upstairs and down, smashing things by the sound of it. None of that mattered though. Material items were of little concern to him. Having the privacy of his home invaded angered him immensely but right now he was more concerned for Olivia's welfare and that of his family. His daughter had popped out to the library and he was expecting her home any minute. His wife wasn't due home from her shift for another couple of hours at least. He hoped Kathleen had met up with some friends or something, thereby delaying her return home. The last thing he wanted was her walking in on this.

"Liv?" he hissed again. He had tried a few times to get her attention, but she was unresponsive. This time though he saw her move slightly, so he tried again.

"Liv!"

He watched as she slowly managed to pull herself up into a sitting position, wincing from a pain that he realized was probably a broken rib. As she raised her head, he once again took in the bruises on her face, his stomach lurching a little at the pitiful sight. She looked like she needed a hospital and soon.

"Liv," he said again, his tone deliberately less urgent and gentler. "Do you think you can make your way over here?"

She nodded and he watched as she painstakingly got to her feet and began to move towards him. It was only then that he properly grasped the fact that her hands were also bound by tape behind her back and his heart sank. For some inexplicable reason he had assumed she had been left untied. She was hardly in a state for much in the way of a heroic escape attempt. Binding her just seemed a pointless further act of cruelty.

"Who is this guy?" he asked, resigned to the fact that if escape were impossible, at least gaining a better understanding of their situation might help in some way.

"His name is William Lewis," she managed to get out, before the sound of keys in the front door drew both of their attention.

"Shit. It's Kathleen!" Elliot said horrified.

"Call the police!" Olivia yelled. Her voice was weak and it was doubtful Kathleen would have heard her, but Elliot marveled at her presence of mind after everything she had been through.

"Kathleen! Don't come in! Go! Get the police!" he yelled frantically. The frustrating sound of the door opening made him struggle even harder against his bindings, but it was useless.

"Daddy? Is something up?" he heard her call out.

"Go! Run!" he yelled back. Then everything went silent and his trained ears picked up the click of the safety catch on a gun and his heart sank. He had been so focused on the sound of the front door he had obviously failed to keep track of where Lewis was.

He watched helplessly as his daughter stepped into the room, followed by Lewis, who had his gun trained on her.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed when she saw him. He shook his head sadly, a silent apology for not being able to prevent this and protect her in the way he was convinced a Father ought to.

"Olivia!" she exclaimed, suddenly recognising her Father's old partner. "Oh my God!" She stared in dismay at the sight of the woman she had always looked up to, openly devastated by her dreadful appearance.

"It's going to be ok, Kathleen," Olivia soothed quietly. "Just do as he says. We'll be fine."

Elliot's heart lurched as he heard her brave words. This was Olivia all over. Her concern was always with everyone else but her. It suddenly hit him then just how much he had actually missed having her in his life. He closed his eyes tightly shut willing the emotion to fade. Now was not the time. Their situation was obviously desperate. He needed to focus. He couldn't let that animal get his hands on his daughter.

"What do you want?" he asked opening his eyes again to look straight at Lewis, his tone steady and resolute. There had to be a way out of this and he was determined to find it.

"I think we'll move this party upstairs," Lewis replied, ignoring the question overtly but sending a wave of dread through Elliot as he realised what he was implying. He immediately searched out Olivia's eyes. Her refusal to meet his told him exactly what he needed to know and his heart sank as he realised the extent of what she had suffered. She hadn't needed to say it. He _knew_. All his previous confidence evaporated as he faced the possibility of his own daughter being violated in that way and he could literally feel the blood draining from his cheeks, making him grateful that he was currently sitting down.

"Please. Don't do this. What do you want? I can get you money? Anything you need. It doesn't have to be like this. Take what you can and get the hell out of here. I promise we won't do anything to stop you."

"You're pathetic," Lewis taunted. "You think you have any choice in what is happening here? I call the shots now. You get that?"

Elliot nodded fervently. "Yes. You're in charge. I can see that. But, look at it sensibly. We are both cops. This isn't going to end well."

"This is getting old," Lewis said, rolling his eyes in feigned exasperation.

The truth was Elliot wasn't convinced the man was capable of feeling any emotion at all. He had rarely met such a cold individual: the few that he had still sent shivers through him now.

Elliot watched in horror as Lewis led his daughter away, his ears straining as he heard the sound of them climbing the stairs and then the creaking of the floorboards as they crossed the upstairs landing and entered his and Kathy's bedroom. It was directly above their current position, so they could hear their movements clearly.

"Is he going to rape her?" he asked Olivia, desperate for insight into his likely course of action.

"I don't know," she replied miserably. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

"Why are you here? I don't understand."

"He found out about you from something I must have said while half unconscious and then he found your address in my address book. I'm sorry. I really am. I never expected he would bring me here. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Shh, it's OK. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply it was. What are we going to do though? How long has he had you?"

"Since last night, I think. I don't know. I lost track of time."

"Shit."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Can you get to the phone?" he said suddenly, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him before. "Quick! Before he gets back! It's in the hallway."

She was barely able to cross the room though before Lewis returned.

"What are you doing?" he asked her sternly, approaching her, squeezing the tops of her arms tightly with his hands and bringing his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath against her skin. She closed her eyes, wincing as she prepared for something, although not quite sure what.

He then rammed his fingers into her side, exactly where the broken rib was and she yelped, taken aback by the intensity of the sudden pain.

"Stop it!" Elliot called out desperately, watching how she fell to her knees, trying to catch her breath. He remembered firsthand exactly how painful a broken rib could be and it sent a shudder through him to imagine how she was going through right now.

Lewis stepped forward and producing a knife from his back pocket, he slit the tape that had been pinning Elliot to the chair. He pulled him upright roughly and instructed him to go upstairs, pushing him towards the doorway. Olivia was still on her knees on the ground. Effortlessly he yanked her up to her feet again and pulled her alongside him as they made their way upstairs.

Once in the bedroom, Elliot stared in amazement as he realized what Lewis had obviously been doing while they had been left alone before Kathleen had returned home. He had been preparing. He felt the bile rise as he saw how the room had been set up, with various ominous instruments and tools laid out on a little table he had dragged from Dickie's old room and placed beside the bed. Kathleen was seated in a chair at the other end of the room, her arms pinned behind her back. Elliot found himself being ordered to sit beside her. There was no spare chair, so he sank to the ground beside her and Lewis tied his hands to the chair legs of the chair his daughter was sitting in.

"What's happening?" Kathleen asked, the fear in her tone obvious.

"I don't know sweetie, but I think you need to be prepared. I think this is going to be bad."

He watched as his daughter nodded slowly, intensely proud to see how stoically poised she was given the situation. Lying to her now wasn't going to help. She needed to know what she was potentially facing.

He watched as Lewis pushed Olivia down on the bed and began to secure her hands and feet, tying them to each end.

"Please, think about this," Elliot said, aware that he was literally begging now, but not caring in the least. This had gone far beyond pride.

He watched nervously as Lewis stepped over towards him and proceeded to slap tape over his mouth and that of his daughter.

"Shut up, watch and enjoy!" Lewis said, a grin on his face, revealing his obvious sadistic pleasure.

Elliot wanted to close his eyes and imagine he was far away, anywhere but in this room, but he found his gaze drawn to her face, as he silently begged her to open her eyes. His mind screamed her name, but she remained still and he realized she was probably already mentally shutting down, preparing for the inevitable. His heart felt like it was breaking in two. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. But then the aroma of tobacco hit him reminding him that he was in fact very much awake.

**A/N Hope to get the next chapter up a little sooner. S x**


	8. Chapter 8

8

The hospital

"The psychiatrist will be down to see you in a bit, Olivia," the nurse told her.

It was subtle, but Elliot didn't miss the flash of the dejection that briefly crossed her unusually pale face. He waited until the nurse had finished checking her vitals and moved away before speaking though.

"You need to talk about this, Liv." He knew she wasn't keen on seeing anyone, but given recent events, he believed it was clearly necessary.

The lack of response unnerved him. She seemed so dispirited, it was hard to reconcile the unresponsive woman lying before him with the feisty passionate person he had known back when they were partners and it suddenly filled him with a renewed sense of hopelessness and anger at their situation. Lewis had stolen too much. It seemed he had taken her zest for life and that terrified him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I think lunch is on its way." The unmistakable sound of the lunch cart in the corridor had informed him of the time.

She shook her head miserably and closed her eyes, leaning back even more heavily against her pillows.

"You need to eat something. You want to get out of here, don't you?"

"El, I'm tired. I don't feel like chatting. You should go."

He stared at her in dismay. Did she really want him to leave? Was his presence there making it worse for her? Was it triggering memories that she wanted to forget? He suddenly truly doubted his ability to help her. Maybe it wasn't something they could get over? Maybe the things she had suffered in front of him had just been too traumatic. He winced as the image of her lying there completely at the mercy of that animal bombarded his mind. There was a moment when she had whimpered, a half choked pleading sob, so foreign to his ears, especially coming from her that it had completely taken him aback. It so utterly embodied her pain, penetrating deep inside him. He hadn't been able to get that cry out of his head since.

With his head now down, he desperately tried to fight back the emotion that had started to overwhelm him, believing that the last thing she needed now was to see him cry. But then he wondered if maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let her see just how much he cared and just how much this was hurting him too. He had been forced to watch everything and had been unable to do anything to prevent the attack or protect his own daughter from witnessing something so horrific. Every cry of pain that erupted from her lips during the horrifying ordeal was forever etched into his soul. It wasn't something he suspected he would ever truly come to terms with.

So he raised his head slowly and let her see the tears now tracing a hopeless path down his cheeks. He could taste the saltiness as they trickled down the sides of his mouth.

She stared at him startled to see his open display of emotion, tears forming in her own eyes as she acknowledged just how much their pain was shared.

He stepped closer and she instinctively began to turn her head at his proximity, but he reached out and gently turned her face back towards him.

"Liv, I'm not going anywhere," he whispered firmly. She began to shake her head.

"Look at me," he instructed her.

She raised her eyes to his and his heart lurched as he saw the raw pain fully exposed there.

"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated. Then he leaned in, placing his forehead against hers.

"El…"

"Shh," he soothed, sensing her confusion at the intimate gesture. "It's OK."

She seemed to visibly relax. His gesture was instinctive. It was a primal need to be in physical contact with her, to let her know that he was here with her, that he wasn't going anywhere, a desperate desire to show her that another human's touch could be gentle and compassionate and that the violence she had suffered wasn't in any way the norm. She deserved tenderness and he was determined to show her that. It was familiarity, something that went far beyond a platonic bond, but didn't enter the territory of overt sexual overtones. It was simply a need to feel her skin against his. He longed to wrap his arms around her and hold her properly, but given her medical condition and the fact she was lying in a hospital bed, he did the next best thing, the only thing he could really other than hold her hand.

She closed her eyes, the tears still falling, but he knew she wasn't uncomfortable, that like him she craved this touch, this affirmation of how much they meant to each other without needing to try and put their feelings into imprecise words. That they loved each other, that they were hopelessly and wholly entwined, emotionally invested to such a degree that neither could imagine a world where the other no longer existed, was clear. It went beyond physical attraction. Their pull to one another existed on a plane that neither had been truly conscious of until now. This was perhaps what people meant when they described a state of unconditional love, something that artists desperately strive to recreate in their work, a mood that writers crave to even partially conjure up in their manuscripts; a state of perceived perfection, the existence of which many people question, never coming close in their lifetimes to experiencing it, simply for the very reason that in reality love never is perfect and abandoning the impossible quest for perfection ironically more often than not leads to its very discovery.

He raised his hand to her face, the intimacy of their position embodying the new silent understanding between them that acknowledged their mutual recognition of their deepening dependency on one another. He stroked her cheek tenderly, feeling the moisture on his fingers and knowing that it mirrored his own. He had never felt so close to another human being without the need for the consummate act. His world in this moment consisted purely of him and her and their need for one another right now, always.

"Liv," he whispered, on the verge of speaking the words that had been burning at the back of his mind for years now, but ultimately he decided to refrain. It seemed unnecessary. His feelings were on his face, in his touch, manifested in the way he had remained almost constantly by her bedside since the moment she had been brought here and in the way he had attended to her every need, bringing her water if she desired it, dampening her cloth and wiping her face, gently combing through her hair with her hairbrush, talking to her when she wanted to talk, remaining silently by her side when she didn't. They didn't need words. It went beyond words.

"Stay," she said. He knew exactly what she meant. It wasn't a plea and he knew she had no doubt that he would oblige when she said it. It was then he realised that his earlier doubts couldn't have been more wrong. He could help her. She needed him just as badly as he needed her.

* * *

Elliot's home

Four months ago

He could tell she was silently crying. The intermittent sniffing was painfully obvious. His desire to go to her gave way to a frustrated despair such as he had never known. His daughter was also sniffling beside him in the chair. Lewis had removed their gags before going downstairs. For how long, he had no idea. The damage had already been significant though. Olivia had been violently raped twice in front of them already. The first had been relatively fast, but with the second assault Lewis had taken his time. Elliot had watched in absolute horror as he had cut and burned into her skin, her cries of terror and pain piercing the otherwise silent air, ensuring that he would never sleep easy again. His only consolation was the fact that she had seemed groggy and half out of it. It seemed Lewis preferred his victims more pliable. So far, thankfully, he had stayed away from his daughter. It seemed his main intent was to humiliate and torture Olivia for whatever reason. He could only guess as to why he had removed their gags, but he supposed it was designed to allow communication between them and potentially further increase their collective terror.

He grimaced as he imagined what it would be like to get his hands on the man. He knew without a doubt he would kill him without a second thought. Scum like that didn't deserve to live. A jail cell would be far too good for the likes of him. Once again he fruitlessly pulled at the bindings on his wrists, yelling in frustration as they didn't even seem to slightly budge.

"Has he gone?" his daughter asked in a small voice.

He cringed at the terror lurking there.

"Kathleen. Can you work your hands loose?" he asked, ignoring her question on the whereabouts of their attacker for the moment.

"It's tight," she said forlornly. "I'll try."

He watched her as she struggled, encouraging her as she mentioned that the tape of her left hand was feeling a little looser than the right.

"Keep trying Kathleen," he repeated.

Grimacing she pulled once more, focusing all her attention on her left hand now.

"It's definitely loosening I think!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"That's great. You can do this. Concentrate!"

With renewed effort she finally succeeded in freeing her left hand. She began to work on the right. Then they heard the unmistakable sound of the front door.

"Oh crap, it's your mother," Elliot groaned. "Kathleen. You have to get free. You're our only chance!"

Pulling desperately at her remaining bindings, she managed to free herself completely and immediately turned her attention to her Father.

"Can you check on Olivia?" he asked quickly. He had been very aware that she had fallen silent over the last few minutes and he was worried.

Nervously Kathleen tiptoed over to the bed.

"I think she's unconscious," she said slowly. "She's breathing. Her chest is moving up and down."

"Great. That's great. OK. Try and free me too."

The sound of voices had alerted him to the fact that Lewis had obviously overpowered Kathy downstairs. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of feet climbing the stairs.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "There's no time. You have to go Kathleen! Go out of the window! Go and get help! Now!"

"OK," she said nodding fervently. "I'll get help Daddy. I will."

"Good girl," he said, watching in relief as she started to climb through the window. She knew to lower herself down as far as she could so that she was stretched out hanging by her hands before dropping to the ground, as it would reduce the distance to fall. They had talked about it on many occasions when they had discussed what to do in the event of a fire. He heard the sound of her feet hitting the ground and he thanked God that finally help was on its way. They just needed to hang on a little longer and hope that in the meantime Lewis didn't retaliate badly when he found out one of his captives was gone.

The bedroom door burst open and he saw his wife being pushed inside.

"Elliot?" she said, obviously dazed at the extraordinary turn of events.

"It's OK, Kathy," he said calmly.

"Is that Olivia?" she asked in confused horror as she caught sight of the unconscious figure on the bed. "What on earth is going on?"

"Where's your daughter?" Lewis said, suddenly realising that she had gone. Elliot shrugged, unable to completely quash the satisfied grin that appeared on his face. He watched as his captor rushed over to the window, but it was clear Kathleen had long gone.

"Well this upsets plans, doesn't it," Lewis said. Elliot wondered at how calm he sounded in the face of such a potentially catastrophic development.

"You leave me no choice," he said thoughtfully, now aiming the gun straight at Kathy.

"No!" Elliot yelled simultaneously as the shot ran out. Kathy fell to the ground, an expression of absolute shock on her face. Blood quickly began seeping out of her wound.

"Kathy!" Elliot yelled desperately.

"He shot me," she stammered, her hands now on her lower chest. They were already stained red.

Elliot strained to see where she was hit. The fact she could speak suggested her heart and lungs hadn't been fatally damaged. If they could get her to a hospital, then maybe she would be alright?

Then he saw the glint of the metal as he realised Lewis was now aiming at him and stunned he watched as his assailant's finger pressed down on the trigger. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. His body jerked as he felt the shot penetrate his abdomen, followed then by the searing pain.

"It's been fun," Lewis said matter-of-factly as he stepped over to the bed and proceeded to sling Olivia over his shoulder, wrapped in the blood-stained bed sheet she had been lying on.

"Where… taking… her?" Elliot managed to stammer though gritted teeth. The pain was indescribable. It took his breath away.

But Lewis ignored him and left taking Olivia with him.

"Kathy?" he yelled as soon as they had gone. His attention was now focused completely on his wife. She was slumped on the ground, her head against the dresser, barely conscious by the look of her. This was bad. He was still immobilized, pinned to the chair by his wrists. Their only hope now was that Kathleen had managed to raise the alarm. Surely the police would be here any minute?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Warning. I'm afraid this is a very dark chapter, darker than I ever intended to go, but someone pointed out to me that the beauty of fanfic is the chance to anonymously explore areas you may not normally consider venturing. I think if you've read this far, it will be OK though. I have tried to write it at sensitively as I can. I know this is a hard story, but I believe it will be worth it in the end. Olivia needs Elliot and he equally needs her. x**

9

The hospital

"How did it go?" he asked as soon as he slipped back inside the room after the on-call psychiatrist left. She was lying slumped back against the pillows, seemingly staring at nothing in particular, her gaze landing on a bare stretch of the drab off-white wall opposite her bed. The peculiar distinct smell of disinfectant permeated his nose. Hospitals had a way of getting you down.

She shrugged apathetically, refusing to meet him in the eye; a sure sign, as far as he was concerned, that she hadn't been particularly cooperative.

"Liv, you need to talk about it," he admonished her gently.

"I'm sick of talking about it," she retorted, her frustration apparent in her tone. "What good does going over and over everything do? Does it help _you_? Does it bring back Kathy? Does it take away the ache in your heart? Does it make you feel any better?"

"Liv, you know how it works."

They had been supporting victims for the larger part of their careers, but it was entirely different when attempting to apply that knowledge and experience to your own situation. He wished he could somehow reassure her, tell her that by facing it, over time things would get better, but in truth her words had hit home. He was all too aware that it wasn't true that time lessened the pain; it was just that hopefully you gradually learned to accept its presence and live with it. Some people were better at that than others. Regardless, it was never easy.

Another fleeting memory of his late wife suddenly hit. It was the day after Maureen had been born. He had come to visit them both in the hospital and had pushed open the door to find them both fast asleep, his newborn tucked up in the crook of her mother's arm. He had stood for a while, staring down at them in awe, his desire to nurture and protect them both building in his chest to the extent that tears formed in his eyes. A few minutes later, as though sensing his presence, Kathy had woken and smiled when she had seen he was there and it had truly sunk in then that the woman before him was the mother of his child. His admiration for what she had just been through to bring the baby into the world overwhelmed him. Whatever happened now, he determined he would always be there for her, for them both. They deserved no less. His role had shifted from lover to husband and now to Father. It knew without a doubt it was the most important thing he would ever do in this world. Family meant everything.

Now as he stared at Olivia, he tried to imagine what it must have been like for her never to have had that. Her very existence was a result of a violent, abhorrent act and she had been forced to face the pain of knowing that while she was loved, she was simultaneously abhorred, simply because of her existence and what she represented. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her mother to have been faced with the daily reminder of the horror she had suffered, let alone how devastating it must have been for her daughter to see that pain reflected in her mother's eyes every time she had raised her arms for a hug. It grieved him that she had never known the kind of pure unconditional love that every child deserved. No wonder she had found it difficult to trust men and to allow herself the chance at a loving relationship. It seemed remarkable to him how warm and compassionate she actually was given her upbringing and genetic heritage.

"I thought she'd never leave," she said, bringing his attention away from his musings and back to the room and her immediate situation.

"Well did she prescribe any medication?"

She shrugged and his face screwed with worry. Her complete indifference to her situation unnerved him. He couldn't help but wonder if she was really in any state to leave the hospital any time soon.

"If you didn't like her, I can get them to find someone else?" he suggested hopefully. Perhaps it was as simple as a clash of personalities?

"Don't bother."

He sighed. He had no idea how to deal with this. He felt completely out of his depth.

* * *

He had slipped out, telling her he needed to use the bathroom, but in fact he intended to see if he could have a word with her doctors. He was worried beyond belief by her uncharacteristic despondency and wanted to see if the psychiatrist had any insight after their chat.

He spotted her in the nurses' station conversing with Olivia's main medical doctor, a slightly built woman probably at least twenty years the psychiatrist's junior. Grateful he had caught them both, he approached.

"Can I have a word?" he asked, trying to hold himself together enough to face whatever it was their insight might reveal.

They ushered him into an office and he took the seat he was offered, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

"I'm worried about Olivia," he said heavily. "This is so unlike her. She's a fighter, you know, but it's like she's shut down. She's not herself. I can't even…" he broke off, as the emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

"Mr Stabler. I gather she's been through a significant trauma," the psychiatrist said.

"Yes," he nodded, his heart sinking as he realized Olivia obviously hadn't revealed a thing about her ordeal during the consultation. What had they been talking about? The weather?

"She was held for four days by a vicious sociopath, raped, beaten, humiliated and tortured and in addition to that forced to witness three murders and the rape of another victim," he explained flatly. He knew he didn't have it in him to mention the extent of his involvement in it. This wasn't about him anyway. It was about her.

"My God," the younger doctor breathed visibly shocked. She had known her patient had been assaulted, but hearing the extent of the list of atrocities had thoroughly taken her aback. Something like this would surely affect even the most seasoned of professionals. The psychiatrist to her credit hid her repulsion a little better.

"She's been through hell. I don't know how to help her." he added hopelessly. He wasn't sure how to help himself for that matter.

"It certainly explains a lot. I believe even from the brief talk we had that she's severely clinically depressed. She needs urgent care. In fact I was just discussing this with Doctor Maynard here, but I am placing her on a 72 hour suicide watch hold."

"What?" he stammered, the color draining from his face. Despite his own doubts, hearing the psychiatrist utter the words so matter-of-factly shook him to the core. He had almost hoped he had been overreacting and that the doctors would have reassured him she wasn't as bad as he had feared.

"After speaking with her, I believe there is a significant risk of a second suicide attempt and I also believe that if she gets the chance she will make sure she is successful," the psychiatrist confirmed, sending a cold chill throughout his body.

"What if I promise to stay with her?"

"I really can't recommend that she leave the hospital. She needs medication and therapy urgently."

"It's really that bad, doctor?"

"Yes, I believe so."

He leaned forward, his head in his hands, barely able to process what the doctor was telling him.

"Can you help her?" he asked finally.

"We'll certainly try," the doctor replied solemnly.

* * *

Elliot's home

4 months ago

He had lost all track of time. All he knew was that Kathleen had been gone too long and something was terribly wrong. He wondered if somehow Lewis had caught up with her and the thought petrified him. He couldn't understand what could possibly have happened. She had escaped. All she had needed to do was run to the nearest house and call 911. What could possibly have got in the way of that? Had she tried to come back for some reason? Had Lewis then run into her on his way out with Olivia? Countless possibilities ran through his mind, but none of them made any sense. The only thing he knew for sure was that somehow she must have been prevented from contacting the police, for if she had, surely help would already be here by now. He had to face the very real possibility that no one was coming, that both of them would die here.

Kathy's slumped form was still. She hadn't moved nor made a sound for a while now. He couldn't confirm it, but given the amount of blood he could see, he suspected she had already succumbed to her injuries. It seemed unthinkable that she could really be gone; she had been part of his life his entire adulthood. The thought of facing a future without her was almost paralyzing. How was he supposed to tell their children that their mother had gone, just like that with no warning, with no reason for it whatsoever? It occurred to him that this was his fault. Ultimately, whichever way you looked at it, his career choice had led to her death and he wasn't at all sure how he was supposed to live with that.

He was beginning to feel light-headed and was aware that he had probably lost a significant amount of blood himself. He wondered how much longer he had before he too joined his wife. He almost longed for the release from his current turmoil that death would provide, but the thought of leaving his children alone without a mother or a father, especially Eli, turned his stomach. He imagined the older kids would look out for their younger brother, but it saddened him immeasurably to think that given his tender age he would barely retain any memories of his parents. At least he wasn't here; that was one thing to be grateful for! He was probably safely tucked into bed now at Maureen's. She had always had a special fondness for her younger brother and sometimes took him overnight. Both he and Kathy welcomed the break. As much as they loved their rambunctious son, it was a completely different story raising a child in your forties than in your twenties.

His mind turned back to Olivia and his stomach knotted as a flashback suddenly hit without warning; the image of her lying there, her hands and feet tied to the bed, naked, exposed, the dismal resignation in her eyes, her silent plea for redemption and the awful sound of Lewis humming an innocuous tune as he cracked a can of beer that he had helped himself to from the fridge. How could someone be so impervious to the suffering of another human being like this? How could he sit there, perched on the side of the bed beside her, sipping at a can of Budweiser as though he had not a care in the world, while clutching a wooden spoon that not five minutes later he deliberately and callously inserted into her, his only possible motivation her absolute humiliation.

It seemed purely a senseless desire to utterly degrade her. Barely conscious, Olivia had hardly flinched as the offending object had penetrated her and Elliot had watched repulsed as Lewis had removed it, bringing it up to her face. Knowing what he intended Elliot had closed his eyes at this point. He had no comprehension of how anyone could even entertain such cruelty. He had felt the silent tears slowly trickle from his eyes as her tormentor had verbalized his gratification at the latest obscene act he forced her to perform and once again he had silently begged and pleaded with God to do something, anything to stop this evil, this unimaginable malevolence that had besieged them, reaffirming his eternal allegiance should his desperate request for divine intervention be granted. At that point he knew he would willingly sacrifice himself to any eternal fate if it had meant it would save her from further torment.

He tried to tear his thoughts away, force himself to think of something else, anything else, but he couldn't force the images from his head. Curiously, despite everything he had witnessed, the one memory that remained most tenaciously was that of her being carried away after the shots had fired out. Lewis had thrown her over his shoulder, dragging her off to an uncertain fate. It was true he may end up dying here in his own bedroom, but at least the worst was over for him now. The idea that Olivia was still suffering in ways he didn't even dare begin to imagine, made him long for Lewis to meet with the worst kind of torturous end possible. If by some chance he survived this, he would make him pay. It was a promise that he fully intended to keep.

Inside the trunk of a stolen car

She tried to roll over onto her side, but couldn't. Her head was spinning. Her arms were pinned behind her back, and her legs trussed, her mouth gagged, her eyes blindfolded. The helplessness was overwhelming. Her body ached all over, but the pain between her legs had gradually begun to worsen so much so that she almost longed for more of the vodka that he had once again forced down her throat not long ago. She could feel a certain amount of dampness which suggested she had been bleeding, but her mind refused to even go as far as imagining what kind of internal damage might have been caused. It suddenly occurred to her that at some point he had redressed her. She cringed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she suddenly recalled how he had slowly pulled her panties up her legs, running his hands along her skin as he did so, taking his time, tormenting her relentlessly before finally thrusting his fingers roughly inside her, making her cry out with pain once more.

Would this nightmare never end? Would it actually be better to die? Had Elliot really been there? _Shit, he had been shot._ The realization hit hard. He couldn't be dead. Not Elliot. This was all her fault. And Kathy too! She distinctly remembered his wife had taken a bullet in the chest. The chances of her surviving that seemed slim.

She whimpered miserably, devastated at the senseless loss and suffering, knowing there wasn't a single soul to hear her. The loneliness was crushing.

_He couldn't be gone. Not Elliot. _

Tears had already soaked through her blindfold and she could feel the moisture flowing over her cheeks as she gave up on her attempt to roll over. What was the point in fighting for anything any more? Her life was over. There was no getting over something like this, surely? She didn't want to die, but she knew that like this she didn't want to live either.


End file.
